


Save A Bit For Me

by heckhansol



Category: SEVENTEEN (Band)
Genre: M/M, Romance, a lot of it, and talking about drugs, good boy and student!Seungkwan, language lol, modern weird romance lmao, only weed though, pretend YouTube would allow any of this, stoner!Hansol, use of drugs, welcome to my only "pretend they're all speaking English" fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-08
Updated: 2018-12-31
Packaged: 2019-08-20 15:20:56
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 18
Words: 78,508
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16558247
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/heckhansol/pseuds/heckhansol
Summary: As a privately educated university student, Seungkwan has a lot of opinions, and some strong ones about certain subjects. As a YouTuber and total LA boy, Hansol lives a laid back life with near zero rules and regulations. With entirely opposing viewpoints and lives, there’s no way the two of them would ever have a way to meet. But in a city built on dreams like Los Angeles, you never know whose path you’ll cross.// OR //With the model couple always sitting right in front of him, Seungkwan is constantly looking for someone to be with, but has terrible luck. Hansol is still getting over what left, and is no longer an active participant in finding a love, though he wants to have one. But in a city built on dreams like LA…





	1. Tap Out

It’s actually pretty impressive, the kinds of things Soonyoung can do with his body. Seungkwan trudges his way up the big grassy steps outside of the fine arts building. More like steppes, he should say—each one is wide and flat enough that it takes multiple strides to get to the next. Whether it’s because they’re always clean and green with some kind of genetically modified supergrass, or because they’re out in the open and put him on obvious display for passersby, they’re Soonyoung’s favorite place to practice, so Seungkwan knew to find him here.

            He’s in a handstand scorpion at the moment—a pose Seungkwan actually remembers the name of—with his toes practically touching the back of his head. Soonyoung’s bare arms are muscular in a sinewy way that only dynamic exercise can cultivate (in apparent contrast to his buff boyfriend). His shoulders stand out, triceps curving around humeri, healthy swells of flesh in the sun. Even his calves are starkly visible through grey harem pants, traps and lats solid through a muscle shirt that cinches in a band at his waist.

            Seungkwan can only wish he looked that way. With a body like that, Seungkwan would totally date Soonyoung if he wasn’t such an insolent fool, and his best friend since high school.

            As Seungkwan watches, Soonyoung changes his pose with fluid ease. His legs stagger into a Nike swoosh, one bent over his head and the other extended out behind him, toes in ballerina points. Then he twists his hips a little, shifting his center of gravity, as if the wind changed directions and his legs were a weather vane. And then, just to be entirely insane, he lifts one arm up, putting his full body weight onto the other wrist, and points forward with the direction of his extended leg.

            Soonyoung has made a lot of offhand jokes about being amazing in bed, but Seungkwan is really starting to understand just why fourth-year Choi Seungcheol is so undeniably whipped for his best friend. And then he starts to wonder if Soonyoung would crumple to the ground with a puppyish yelp if Seungkwan called out his name and startled him. Only one way to find out.

            “Soonyoung!”

            No dice. Soonyoung doesn’t even twitch—but he does start to revert from his final form. He puts the insane hand down with the one that honestly should be broken, Seungkwan thinks, then pulls both legs straight above his head in a measly beginner’s handstand. They break from the ankles into a wide V at the same time that Soonyoung’s body bends forward at the shoulders. He lowers himself into a zero-degree planche, reminding Seungkwan, as if to give him a silent _ha ha_ and a stick of the tongue, of his phenomenal strength. He lets his toes touch his mat again and presses up into a full cobra, then continues with his incredibly extra performance by downward dogging back into a standing forward fold before finally straightening up, placing his feet together and his palms against each other, squaring his shoulders, and sighing with his eyes closed and a soft, content smile on his lips.

            “What did I tell you about namastaying out of my space when I’m working, Kwan?”

            Seungkwan snorts and goes up the final few steps to him. “The fact that you still insist on calling this work actually boggles my mind, Kwon.”

            Soonyoung opens his eyes and the smile turns into pursed lips. “It’s a real major, Seungkwan, and no less applicable than psychology.” His perfect yogi stance breaks and his hip pops out, one hand coming to it.

            “You’re really going to compare yoga studies to neuroscience?” Seungkwan says, dropping his backpack onto the fake real grass.

            Soonyoung raises his eyebrows didactically. “If we’re talking human mental health, absolutely.”

            Seungkwan rolls his eyes. “Okay, _anyway_. I’m surprised I didn’t scare you—I thought you’d fall over. You can imagine my disappointment when you didn’t. Though you were spectacularly extra coming back down when you could have just stepped out of the fancy handstand.”

            “Zen and flow, Seungkwan,” Soonyoung says, pushing his palms out to the sides. “And I named the pose myself: the Twisted Uterus.”

            Seungkwan makes a face. “That sounds painful and also pretty sexist.”

            Soonyoung does a fake laugh, tipping his head side to side. “ _No_ , because when the pose is complete, the curve of my back and my extended leg and arm look like the body of the uterus, while my bent leg and supporting arm look somewhat like fallopian tubes—all turned ninety degrees.”

            “That doesn’t make it any less sexist. Just call it Taurus or something.”

            It gives Soonyoung pause. “The Twisted Taurus. Nice one—alliteration _and_ astrology. I should write that down. Even though it sounds a bit like a swanky bar.”

            Seungkwan rolls his eyes. “Okay, I really didn’t come up here for this. If you’d just answered your phone…” He trails off and remembers he doesn’t need another of Soonyoung’s bizarrely sexual descriptions of zenspace. “Listen, your birthday party is in two days, right?”

            He almost adds, _And I can’t believe you’re leaving me here alone for almost a week_ , but figures all it’ll earn him is one end of the spectrum of Soonyoung either deciding to be snarky back or him engulfing Seungkwan in a hug he didn’t ask for and baby-talking at him. On Soonyoung’s actual birthday on June fifteenth, Seungcheol is taking him on a trip up northeast for five days since summer break will have started. They’ll be visiting Soonyoung’s parents in Vermont and Seungkwan already knows they’re going to love Seungcheol. Then they’ll go up to Maine that night to find their intimate little bed and breakfast with Victorian style décor and a king size bed with actual bedposts which probably costs more than a class’s worth of Seungkwan’s tuition for just four nights, and for the next four days they’ll go sailing on the lakes and have ice cream on cobbled streets and taste real maple syrup practically straight from the tree and see lighthouses and crystal-clear glacier water and hold hands while walking barefoot on the beach at sunset and it’s a birthday thing and Seungcheol’s graduation thing too but it’s still not really _fair_.

            “And the end of the year right after that,” Soonyoung says, stretching his arms up nonchalantly like special things are just normal for him since getting a rich and doting boyfriend. “Hey, Kwan, if you’re stressed about finals I’ve got some poses I could show you.” He sneers, nose scrunching up. “And Cheol might have something you could—”

            “This is _actually_ the last time you bring up that nasty freaking plant to me, Soonyoung.” Seungkwan angles away from his friend, looking at the big windows on the arts building instead. “I bet he reeks of it all the time.”

            Soonyoung deadpans at him. “You literally went out with us last week. Smell anything then? Didn’t think so.”

            Seungkwan just waves his hand at him.

            Soonyoung lets out a sound of exasperation. “Come _on_ , Seungkwan. Is Seungcheol having a seizure every day or something? No. Besides, he barely ever smokes anyway. A roll here and there—once a week tops.”

            “Maybe that’s why,” Seungkwan grumbles, but Soonyoung isn’t having it.

            “You’ve never even tried it, you old WASP.”

            Seungkwan scrunches his face at him. “I’m literally Asian and so is everyone we know. Haven’t you learned we move in packs around here?”

            “I didn’t _literally_ mean it,” Soonyoung says, leaning forward and widening his eyes at him, though it doesn’t work well with his features. “You’ve never smoked weed and you judge it anyway. You’re freaking _Elizabethan_ —like them throwing tomatoes at bad performers saying they’ll poison people when they’ve never eaten them. And they actually have amazing benefits, in case you’d care to further consider the analogy.”

            Seungkwan wants to say that he _has_ eaten tomatoes and he’s pretty sure they will kill him, and that it’s not anywhere near the same thing, but instead he just retorts with, “Says the person who tried it and still doesn’t smoke it.”

            Soonyoung huffs and pushes his feet into some ridiculous pair of Gucci slides Seungcheol bought him with his trust fund money. “Not the point. I just don’t need it to be chill, okay, like why else am I studying yoga? Some people really do get huge benefits from the stuff.”

            “Like Seungcheol?” Seungkwan snaps, crossing his arms.

            Soonyoung deadpans again at him because he knows very well that Seungcheol is in stellar physical condition as a sports medicine major who meal preps and works out six days a week at 5:30 am.

            “Face it, Soonyoung, you’re actually a trophy wife,” Seungkwan concludes. “All you need is to get into Pilates, too. Or barre.”

            Soonyoung reaches down for his purple yoga mat, impossibly flexible hamstrings letting his legs stay fully straightened. “And strain my joints all the time? No thanks.” He starts to roll it.

            “Oh, and why not?” Seungkwan says, his stubborn accent coming out. “Isn’t there a marijuana for that?”

            Soonyoung picks up his backpack and laughs. “You sound so lame, babe. Get with the times _and_ the location.” He tucks his mat under one perfectly sculpted arm. “This is LA for Christ’s sake.”

            Seungkwan taps out. “You know what, Kwon? Your birthday’s cancelled.” He turns to march back down the steps and waves a hand over his shoulder. “Congrats on finally getting your wish of transcending reality and physically becoming Forever Twenty-One.”

            Soonyoung bristles. “Hey.” He points and follows after his friend. “You know enlightenment isn’t a joke, Seungkwan. And you better show up with something that isn’t cake—you know I hate it!”


	2. Jules Vernon

“Third video this week?” Joshua asks.

            Hansol hums a yes into his phone as he pulls open his oven. Like an idiot, as always, he leans right into the waft of heat that shoves its way out. He scrunches his face up and laughs at himself, grabbing a towel to cover his hand. “I’m on a roll, eh?”

            “Bank it, dude.”

            Hansol pulls the brownies out of the oven, their smell sweet and rich, like he knows they’ll be just the right amount of gooey, and a little deep and earthy, like he knows he got a good batch—and not of the brownies. He draws in a long breath and sighs it out loudly. “Oh my god, these are _amazing_.”

            “I can hear you coming through the phone, Chwe, calm down.”

            Hansol chuckles. “You want to hurry over here and share when I’m done filming? I can save a couple for you.” He brings the pan to the counter and sets it down, waving at the steam a little.

            Joshua makes a noncommittal noise over the sound of Slow Runner playing through his Dot in the background. “Eh. You know I don’t really do that stuff anymore.”

            Hansol shakes his head, smiling. “You used to freaking deal, Josh.” He grabs a toothpick he put on the counter before and dips it into the center of the pan. Clean but moist— _flawless_.

            “Yeah but nobody needs a dealer anymore. There’s a shop on every corner.”

            Hansol snorts. “If only it were really that easy.” He sways his hips a little to the smell of the brownies and Joshua’s music.

            “Says the guy who has an endless supply of cannabis stacked in his living room,” Joshua replies.

            Hansol clicks his tongue. “Now that’s not true and you know it. It’s in my _bedroom_.” Joshua laughs and Hansol pokes at the brownies again with the pad of his finger. Absolute perfection. “You’re really missing out though. I just bought this stuff from Wonwoo’s place today, super fresh.”

            “Yeah but I’ve got finals coming up. Formal Semantics and Meaning and Use next week, then Socio Methods the week after, as well as my thesis due date.”

            Hansol grins. “I don’t know what that stuff is, but under any other circumstances I would be ragging on you for skipping out on me. But I’m really proud of you, man. Finally graduating, honors and everything.”

            “Thanks, Hansol.”

            Hansol leans back against the counter, looking at his brownie pan. “You’ll be off being the best languager ever and I’ll still be here, cooking various baked goods and pastries à la cannabis because Los Angeles.”

            Joshua laughs again. “Linguist, who isn’t moving cities. And now I’m imagining a croissant on a plate next to a neat pile of hash that you’re eating with a fork.”

            Hansol does his loud laughter where he breathes it in more than pushes it out. “Bro, too bad April Fools’ already passed.”

            “Next year,” Joshua says with a chuckle. “Let’s go out this weekend, yeah? Last hurrah before two weeks of hell.”

            “And then a summer of schoolless, jobless freedom. Heck yeah,” Hansol says. “I gotta film while these things are still hot anyway. Text me?”

            “Got you.”

            “Sweet. See you, man.”

            Joshua says goodbye and Hansol ends the call. His setup is already prepared: tripod and monitor, camera and mic, lights, mini table and the chair he always sits in, plus the small stool he puts the food on for the surprise reveal every time. Just a few more things and he can start today’s video. He grabs a trivet and a butter knife and brings them over to his space, knife on the table in the camera frame, trivet on the stool. He goes back to his kitchen and grabs the pan with his bare hand. He whips his fingers away, flapping his hand in the air and hissing. “Hecking…” He opens a drawer and digs around, finding two detachable rubber handles that fit the edges of any pan and make it easier to hold. Josh got them for him on his birthday this February and he’s used them probably the most out of any gift besides the new headphones he bought for himself. Josh is the one who knows most about what goes on behind the scenes of his channel anyway. He was literally THvC’s first follower, and he’ll be the first to congratulate Hansol in a few weeks time, Hansol estimates, when he hits 300,000 subscribers.

            Hansol smiles at the thought and brings the pan over to the stool, resting it on the trivet. He situates in his chair, checks the mic and monitor one more time, tugs at the front of his sweatshirt and clears his throat, and then presses record on his camera, smiling for his intro.

            “What up everybody, how you guys doing? It’s THvC back at you with another episode of—” he puts the backs of his fingers under his chin and wiggles them, making a cute smile, “Baking With Hansol. So today for you guys, I’ve got something big going on. I’ve been wanting to do this one for a while now. It was one of my first videos of my kind back in the day when I got on this thing. There were maybe ten thousand of you then, that’s fucking wild.” He laughs, and this has become so natural to him over the months, it really feels to him like he’s talking to people on the other side of the red light. “Shout out to the early ten, and welcome to all the new Buddies too.” He grins and brings a conspiratorial hand to the side of his mouth, leaning in. “If you’re brand new, Buddies is a play on words, eh?” He laughs and leans back. “Enough chit chat, Hansol, get to the damn food.”

            He’ll add a cut there, just to make it look like he was blabbing on for longer than that. Cuts actually seem to make the flow of his videos smoother. Before, it would be one long running thing unless he messed up. Now, he rarely messes up, but adds strategic cuts wherever they feel necessary or cool. It’s kind of like an art project, he thinks, and he’d probably get at least a solid C. Joshua told him once to keep his head on over YouTube videos about “weed cake”.

            “So today, we’ve got the ultimate, the OG, the absolute _classic_ edible form…” He reaches down to the stool and hoists the brownie pan into frame on his table. “Brownies. That’s right. Look at these.” He waves a hand over them and breathes in the smell again. “God, they’re beautiful. New and improved edition from way back then when I was getting started. Those other ones were dry and tasted like straight up weed, honestly. Who knows—maybe it’s just my baking skills that have gotten better.” He tisks at himself with a chuckle. As he continues, he points to the brownies in the pan. In the video he’ll zoom in on them. “I can already tell with these guys. Soft and not too cakey in texture, the perfect sweetness, but that cut of earth from the Mary just keeps it from going totally sugar overload. I mean, it’s no wonder shit like this is so popular. Plus, these were _so_ easy to make, let me tell you. Get some Betty Crocker recipe, whole damn milk okay no skim mess in these guys, fine ground sugar and some solid grade A flower. Spelled with a W, I mean.” He looks up into the lens and does his signature half-smile. “Now let’s get into this and I’ll tell you guys how it’s done.”

            He picks up the knife and digs it two inches from the corner to start cutting columns. The smell wafts from between the layers, and sometimes he thinks he could get a good high just from that. “So this whole pan is about fifteen hundred milligrams of THC, all right? The way I cut this, each of twelve servings will have about a hundred twenty to a hundred thirty milligrams. So I’d love to shove this whole pan in my mouth, and y’all know I could do it with this fucking monster.” He laughs, thinking about the comments he’s gotten saying he has a huge-ass hippo mouth, or the kind that demonic creatures in scary movies break open in the dark at 3 am with some banshee screech accompaniment. Honestly, his followers are kind of hilarious. “But since it’s a chill day and I’ll be heading out later, I think I’ll stick to just a few and save the rest for tomorrow.” He turns the pan to start cutting rows. “Now, the most important thing for people who wanna try this—you _have_ to cook your buds. You can throw them in there raw but one, it feels weird as hell chewing them, and two, THC transfer is light years better in my opinion if you even just soak ‘em a little first.” He holds out the knife to the side and brings his free hand to his chest, looking into the lens. “ _My_ personal preference is coconut oil, to sound like a true LA bitch. Butter works great too, even the fake Smart Balance shit. Oil, if you get the point. Just cook your buds. And _don’t_ burn your oil like a total rookie. By the way.” He angles the knife at the brownies. “Are you guys more edge people or middle people?” He digs the knife against the edge of the pan to start wedging out one of the corners. “Personally, I’m a middle guy, but my buddy Josh—you guys remember me talking about him—he’s such a fucking square. He likes—” He pops out the brownie and is pleased when it breaks clean. “The corners. That old line about crunchy on the outside soft on the—bullshit, brownies should be soft through.” He sets down the knife. “Not that I’m not gonna eat this and every other piece,” he says with a laugh, pointing at the corner in his fingers. “Now take a look.”

            He does what he does with every first bite—brings the brownie close to the camera with his other palm to back it, making the lens focus in on the food. In the monitor he can see the gooey chocolate pieces he mixed in, the way the batter cooked to a perfect, glistening, just-done texture in the center with that filmy layer on the upper surface, and the little lighter-colored buds of his usual stuff. Wonwoo’s original name for it at the shop he runs ten minutes from Hansol’s place was Jules Verne, something about it taking you around the world in eighty minutes, but lately he’s even started calling it Jules Vernon with how much Hansol buys of it. Nothing fancy by any means, but classic, good grade with a nice clean high. Hansol’s favorite.

            “See the little guys?” He turns the brownie a little for the viewers. “Perfectly cooked buds, evenly dispersed into the pan. I’d put good money on my skills these days and say I got the same number of ‘em in each serving.” He leans back again and smiles as the camera refocuses. “But who’s counting. Anyway, y’all know this isn’t my most potent recipe, so it’ll be a pretty chill video, it’ll take a second for it to come on, and then we’ll just play it out with this new artist I’ve been saving for this little treat here. So—first bite, shall we?” He lifts the brownie in a _cheers_ and goes in.

            The flavor is beautiful, totally rich and melty and perfect. If he wasn’t doing a video, he’d have smoked something beforehand and _then_ had the brownies, even just regular brownies, just to enhance the whole experience of such little bites of perfection. Except that he eats like half a brownie in every bite. He squeezes his eyes shut and shakes his head, relaxing back in his chair to place and hand over his stomach. “Guys,” he says with his mouth full. “It really doesn’t get much better than this. You know I like going on empty for absorption purposes, and I’ve been fucking starving for an hour. This hits the spot like no other, man.” He holds the brownie to the camera once more and hums in appreciation. “Totally perfect.” He shoves the rest into his mouth and picks up the knife for another.

            In a while, the high will start seeping into him and it’ll be an easy ride from there. All of his eating videos start with his intro of whatever he made, a quick mention of how he made it, and then just some sober talking while he eats until the high kicks in. Then he plays one song for a quick outpouring of THC-induced philosophical thoughts, two songs if he’s really feeling it, and ends the video. He saved the perfect brownie-high song for today.

            “If you guys want, I can show you step by step how I make these some time,” he says, digging out the next edge over. “You know I’m not like, ChweTutorials, but since these are just _Casablanca_ level classic, I think it’d be worth the time. But anyway.” He bites into the next brownie, a mouthful of sweet mush. “So where are we at today? I know the semester’s ending soon so good luck to everyone about to take finals, and remember grades aren’t everything. Just ask the guy who dropped out of his first semester of college and started a YouTube channel based solely around weed.” He pauses and says, “Or maybe don’t do that.”

            He snorts and nearly breathes in brownie, but catches himself. Good—less editing. “Oh, and other big news. You guys might have noticed that I’ve hit two hundred ninety-five K. Now _that_ is fucking wild. For those ten of you who’ve followed me for a while, you probably remember back when my channel was just like,” he makes a face like he can’t believe himself, “literally me smoking on camera. But I’ve showed you guys how to roll solid joints, I’ve showed you every kind of smoke trick and timed reactions and done munchies mukbangs and livestream Q and A’s while I was different levels of high and even that Thanksgiving special where I left the camera rolling for like three hours while I spoke about the damn universe in one of the longest and admittedly best highs I’ve had.” He grins before polishing off the brownie and picking up another. “That shit cost me like five hundred bucks you know. One high for that. Honestly, I’m the kind of guy who’d rather have a bajillion soft highs for the same price as one bout of chronic. I kind of like the easy mellow out, you know? Plus,” he tears the brownie in half to inspect the inside and is pleased to see even distribution of little tannish buds before shoving it into his mouth. “I’ve developed some kind of tolerance to it, so I actually feel like the mellow highs are just like a daily thing now and that’s my new normal. I don’t know—maybe that’s just my broke ass being a little bitch and trying to cope with the fact that all my money gets spent on rent and weed. And baking supplies.” He laughs loudly and shakes his head. “Anyway, I really appreciate you guys coming on here and just like, watching me probably slowly weed myself to death. But it’s a good life, eh? I love living in LA. I know there’s people out there that would probably be disgusted by the idea of what this channel even is but,” he laughs and shrugs, “whatever, man. I’m not hurting anybody. And I’m a good fucking baker too, apparently, so I have a fallback plan for any naysaying republican watching this for no reason other than to dislike it seconds after I post it and then leave. Honestly, where do y’all find the time cause I’d like to buy some.” He snorts again and grins at the camera, eyes squinting up. “I’ll trade you some weed for it.”

            At this point it’s been a few minutes, but he really must have been starving because he can already feel it soaking into his system. Maybe he’s become hyper-attuned to it over the years. “Damn, this is fast stuff,” he says, eyeing the brownie in his hand like it did him dirty. “Maybe I put more than I thought I did. Effects of baking sober.” He chuckles, mentally patting himself on the back, and reaches into his pocket for his phone. His Bluetooth speaker is already paired and ready to go, so he pulls up his Apple Music before turning his phone screen to the camera.

            “So this guy is called tobi lou, no caps, and he makes the coolest music, guys. He’s an LA-er too so, you know, support your locals. I’d love to meet him one day. I’m gonna play _Buff Baby_ for y’all cause it’s one of my faves and the music video has the city of Vernon tower in it, and I like to be a freaking fanboy and relate it to me, you know?” Oops. He let a ‘freaking’ slip instead of its older, stronger counterpart—Hansol Chwe overtaking THvC, as Joshua likes to say. Oh well. “Anyway. He’s a cool new artist so check him out.”

            He pauses and feels it really getting to him, his skull becoming velvet, his body losing a little density. After the video, he figures it’s naptime. “Whoa. This shit is no joke.” He points and looks down at the brownies and realizes he’s eaten half the pan. Score one for mindlessly eating _again_. He does a weird giggle and feels his eyebrows move individually up on his forehead, his vision turning to slits as he smiles, and the brownies leave a flavor on his tongue that tastes like the color mauve. “Okay. Let’s just play this cause I had way more than I thought and I think Wonwoo might be fucking with me too. This is _not_ Jules Vernon.”

            He makes a mental note that would be the worst chicken scratch in the world to ask Wonwoo what he gave him for the price of normal stuff, already expecting some _Congrats on three hundred thousand_ and a snarky smile as the only response, to which Hansol will reply that he hasn’t hit it yet, to which Wonwoo will reply that he’s welcome to pay him back the extra then, to which he’ll reply that Wonwoo’s a freaking obtuse angle, to which Wonwoo…

            He realizes he’s been saying all of his thoughts out loud and that the song is halfway over. Tobi is already singing the most fitting lines: _Baby, don’t smoke all the weed; save a bit for me_. “It’s like time dilation,” he says. “Objects in weed move quicker than those in sober.” He’s not making a ton of sense anymore. Wonwoo totally fucked with him.

            Outro time. Luckily it’s basically muscle memory. “Anyway, thank you guys for watching the latest episode of Baking With Hansol. I’m gonna go build a nest.” That’s…not usually part of the outro. He giggles again and imagines his camera giggling back. “I’ll catch you guys in the _nest_ one.” He sticks the back of his hand out towards the camera, thumb pointing out and forefinger pointing down in a T shape—his ending symbol. The screen would usually go dark then, but when he stands up to turn off the camera and the monitor, he almost falls over, so maybe he’ll leave that part too.


	3. Scathing

Seungkwan spent the rest of the day with Soonyoung, thankful that Seungcheol was too busy to be able to take Soonyoung up on his many requests of joining them in the library or out at dinner or in Soonyoung’s apartment. It’s not that he doesn’t like Seungcheol. He does—he’s a really cool guy, quite smart actually, and makes Soonyoung really happy. And as much as Seungkwan would never have admitted it earlier and didn’t, Seungcheol doesn’t really smoke that much at all, and he’s never pushed Soonyoung or any of his friends to do it either. The only problem Seungkwan has with Seungcheol is Soonyoung, because together they’re sickeningly cute, and Soonyoung always calls Seungkwan out on his envy over the situation whenever Seungcheol leaves the premises.

            “Just get yourself a boyfriend then,” Soonyoung said to him—today even, when Seungkwan flapped at him for being on his phone texting Seungcheol too much while they were hanging out.

            “That’s easy for you to say. You have one,” Seungkwan said, frowning down at his notes from his seminar in applied behavioral analysis.

            Soonyoung looked over at him from his place on his bed, lying on his stomach, feet waving in the air. “He’s great, isn’t he? You could have one just as nice.”

            Seungkwan rolled his eyes. “Thanks, that’s helpful. I doubt I can just go to the store and pick up a boy.” He pauses—because that’s exactly what Soonyoung did—but only briefly. “Much less a good-looking Asian like that.”

            “There are plenty of other Asian guys,” Soonyoung said, putting a hand out. “This is one of the Asian hubs of the U.S., you know. You said it yourself—we move in packs. Besides, what’s wrong with not Asian guys, you r—”

            “Call me racist, I dare you.” He sighed and turned in Soonyoung’s desk chair to face him, setting down his pen. “Look. You managed to land a super smart, super hot, super rich, full Korean senior with prospects. I’m pretty sure he was the only one.”

            “But I bet he’s not though!” Soonyoung exclaimed, sitting up on the edge of his bed. “If you just—” he stuck his hands out at Seungkwan and waved them around like it meant something, “—put yourself out there and talk to some guys. Sure, they’re not all gay but it’s easy to tell. And don’t forget, white boys have a thing for Asians sometimes.”

            Seungkwan sighed again and dragged a hand over his face. “Even more helpful. You know, I don’t think I’m gonna take advice from someone wearing booty shorts and thigh-high compression socks that are pink with sunflowers all over them.” He turned back to his notes as Soonyoung looked down at his outfit of choice.

            “Come _on_ , Seungkwan.” Soonyoung’s catchphrase again as he flopped onto his back. “You _know_ I like these socks. And Seungcheol likes these shorts, so eat that.” He clicked his tongue. “You’re brilliant and funny on the rare occasion and you’ve got a cute face. You just have to try a little harder.”

            “Try harder?” Seungkwan turned back to Soonyoung again, looking at the patch of toned midsection exposed by a deviant white t-shirt with the words _have a good time_ written in a box. Soonyoung’s belly button piercing—a curved 20-karat white gold barbell with a 0.5-carat diamond that sits prettily in his navel; Seungcheol’s trust fund taking another tiny chip—twinkles at him in the light from the ceiling fan. “I’m not a perfectly fit swimsuit model of a yoga studies major who’s vegetarian—sorry, _pesca_ tarian—and who teaches his own classes and can dye his hair silver without it frying off and takes cute Instagram photos with frozen yogurt, okay? I’m certainly not gonna get a Seungcheol.”

            Soonyoung didn’t answer for a moment, until he pushed up onto his elbows. The sly look on his face—the one where his lips poke out a little and his eyes squint—always did terrify Seungkwan. “You don’t _want_ a Seungcheol,” he said. He got up and Seungkwan cringed away as Soonyoung came around behind him, wrapped his arms around his sides and started tapping into his computer.

            “Is this—”

            “Necessary?” Soonyoung finished. “Yes. Because _you_ want James Dean, Marlon Brando before he went nutso. _Titanic_ or _Less Than Zero_. I’d even go so far as to say Ansel Elgort or Zac Efron.” Seungkwan saw the Google image search pulled up and closed Soonyoung’s laptop nearly on his fingers. Soonyoung squeaked and then pouted at Seungkwan, shoving his shoulder. “Is it because I said Zac Efron?”

            “Absolutely,” Seungkwan said, pointing at the bed.

            Soonyoung huffed and tiptoed back over to it, spinning around and falling onto his many miscellaneous pillows. He let one leg dangle off the edge and propped the other up, foot disappearing into his fluffy cream duvet. “The point is, Kwan—you need young Hollywood. You don’t need your typical Asian boy because you _are_ the typical Asian boy. You can play that way up and get some sharp-jawed masterpiece. Just saying.”

            Seungkwan was in the middle of trying to decide if that was even worthy of a response when Soonyoung’s phone chimed and he gasped, flipping himself back onto his stomach in one fluid motion and crossing his sunflower ankles in the air, toes perpetually pointed, grinning down at his phone screen and the text undoubtedly from his boyfriend. Seungkwan just sighed and picked his pen back up.

            Now that he’s back alone in his dorm at eleven pm because it’s late and because Seungcheol could finally come over to Soonyoung’s place, he really wishes it were that easy. Is it too much to ask for someone who makes him want to lie on his stomach and swing his legs for two hours?

            He drops his backpack on his floor and is about to neglect further notes review and go into his bathroom to wash his face and brush his teeth when he remembers that he has to spend tomorrow doing two things: studying for finals and getting stuff for Soonyoung’s party. They’re having it at Seungcheol’s place—a mansion of an apartment ten stories up in the air with big windows and real wood for the floor—so he at least doesn’t have to prepare the location. But he is bringing his presents (a new stainless steel water bottle with a marble pattern, _so_ basic Soonyoung, and a tiny Bonsai since Soonyoung has been obsessed with getting one for a month now and he better like it because it was actually really expensive) and some decorations, as well as one of many desserts because, even though he despises cake, Soonyoung insisted on sweets only for his party since the only sweet things he usually has are decidedly unsweet green smoothies, in Seungkwan’s opinion. That means Seungkwan needs to think of what to make so he can get stuff from the store tomorrow.

            He considers texting Soonyoung to just ask what he wants, but he’s probably on page whatever from the Kama Sutra with Seungcheol by now. He can practically hear Soonyoung using his soothing yoga voice he uses with his classes on Seungcheol, while little does Seungcheol know—or maybe, unfortunately, he has found out after half a year of dating—that Soonyoung can be one of the loudest people ever. Soonyoung would probably just tell Seungkwan to surprise him with his dessert choice anyway. Always the most helpful.

            He glares at the wall and sighs, sticking out his lower lip, then turns on his heel to get his computer from his backpack. He sets up at his desk, plugging the laptop in, and sits there for a while staring at his wallpaper. It’s a photo of him, Soonyoung, and their old friend Minghao who moved back to China after finishing his high school exchange. Last Seungkwan heard, he was in Hong Kong doing an internship with some insanely powerful corporation he can’t remember the name of. In the photo, they’re at Pacific Park in Santa Monica, standing on the beach—Seungkwan on the right doing a peace sign and Minghao on the left looking fashionable even then in rosy glasses perfect for his maturely cynical attitude (he was always the kind of cool Seungkwan wished he could be, and wildly attractive because of it, but straight). Soonyoung is grinning between them, arms around their waists and up on his tippy toes, one leg popped out behind him in tight light blue jeans and his torso showing from under a maroon crop top (back when his piercing was peasant-level surgical steel). Minghao holds the white paper cone leftover from the giant cotton candy puff he and Seungkwan shared, with Soonyoung still being Soonyoung back then and saying he couldn’t have all the sugar, and that he preferred chocolate things anyway.

            The lightbulb flicks on behind his forehead, and Seungkwan taps open Google Chrome. He goes to YouTube and types in _brownies._ He honestly should have thought of them sooner—whenever Soonyoung is having a cheat moment when they’re in the middle of LA with all the best food in the city, if he’s not going for ice cream of any form, he’s going for some form of healthy version of a brownie, vegan or made with avocado or whatever. And taking a cute photo of himself with it, begging Seungkwan to be in it for Instagram, to which Seungkwan almost invariably replies with a no and Soonyoung does a highly realistic disappointed face before flipping it a complete 180 for the camera. But anyway—chocolate, and different enough from cake to not trigger Soonyoung. Perfect. Though he’s just going to make some regular freaking brownies.

            A bunch of videos pop up: pretty girls with fancy font overlaying their long hair and spotless white kitchens, cursive that says _Easy 30 Minute Brownies!_ ; a video that looks like it’s ten years old (eight, actually) that has a “classic brownie recipe” and boasts over four million views; another thumbnail with a celebrity chef Seungkwan should probably recognize but doesn’t, with a third recipe for brownies that sound a little too complicated by name, though Soonyoung would probably love them if Seungkwan wanted to put in that kind of effort. Seungkwan puts his chin in his hand and scrolls a little before his eyes land on a video of interest.

            Or a person of interest. The thumbnail shows a particularly gorgeous young guy, around Seungkwan’s age it looks like, with messy, wavy brown hair parted off to the side. He looks to be half and half, with light skin to match it, and Soonyoung wouldn’t be disappointed with his jawline. He’s holding two halves of a brownie up to inspect them, his face tilted at the perfect angle to show off sharp features and pretty eyelashes. Seungkwan won’t lie—the brownie looks perfectly textured the way Soonyoung likes, dark and rich, and white chocolate chips—or maybe they’re chopped macadamia nuts?—wouldn’t be a bad idea. Even the hands holding the brownie are nice, and maybe Seungkwan is biased towards this guy because of how he looks, but the video was recommended to him and it’s got just over fifty thousand views when it was posted earlier today, so it must be worth it. He hovers his cursor over the title:

 

**Baking With Hansol Ep. 42 | BROWNIES!!! 2.0**

 

before clicking into the video.

            It opens on the boy at his table, camera angled perfectly to have him in the middle third of the screen, his red sweatshirt vivid in the light, and now Seungkwan can see gentle highlights in his hair—possibly natural but maybe not, a mix of dirty blonde and chocolate butterscotch that gets lighter closer to the tips. Seungkwan feels hungry all of a sudden and tells himself it’s the idea of brownies or butterscotch doing it. Immediately, the person who must be Hansol flashes an easy, really handsome smile that thins out his lips, then starts with an intro.

            “What up everybody, how you guys doing? It’s THvC back at you with another—”

            Seungkwan missed like half of that; his volume is too low from library work. He clicks it up just in time to catch Hansol saying, “—With Hansol. So today for you guys, I’ve got something big going on. I’ve been wanting to do this one for a while now.”

            Weird that this kind of guy makes baking videos, Seungkwan thinks. He also kind of wants to go to bed ASAP and hopes Hansol moves along with it, maybe showing the final product before backtracking to some footage that shows how to make the brownies. Though staying up and looking at his face and hearing his actually _really_ nice voice isn’t something Seungkwan is adamantly opposed to.

            “There were maybe ten thousand of you then, that’s fucking wild.”

            Okay, so he’s one of those kinds of guys. Not surprising out of LA—they’ve got a weird mix here. A little swearing isn’t _that_ bad though—there are worse things. His looks make up for it. Seungkwan likes watching his eyes while he talks—they seem really chill along with his voice, lidded in an admittedly sort of hot way, but bright when you get past the lashes to the chestnut color of his irises. Seungkwan wonders briefly if he goes to school too, which part of the city he’s from—if he’s actually from here at all.

            “Shout out to the early ten, and welcome to all the new Buddies too.” Hansol brings one of his nice hands up to his mouth and leans in like he’s telling Seungkwan a secret. “If you’re brand new, Buddies is a play on words, eh?”

            Seungkwan frowns. There isn’t a lot of wordplay he can think of with that word. Only one, actually. He brings a tentative finger up to his trackpad but doesn’t do anything.

            “So today, we’ve got the ultimate, the OG, the absolute _classic_ edible form…”

            Oh. Great.

            “Brownies.”

            Hansol finally lifts the pan up onto his table, and they look perfectly normal and innocent from the outside, delicious even. But Hansol starts saying those key words like edible, Mary, and the kicker: _weed_. These are the _last_ kind of brownies Seungkwan is going to be bringing to Kwon Soonyoung’s twenty-second birthday party. He scoffs and turns the volume up a few more clicks, just to make sure he’s hearing things right.

            THC concentration, how to properly cook your buds, dropping out of college, five hundred dollars spent on one three-hour high, a new slang for marijuana dropped every few seconds. And by the time Seungkwan is steaming over all the swearing and comments like _naysaying republican_ and _I’ll trade you some weed for it_ , Hansol is looking high out of his mind, spilling nonsense out like he doesn’t actually realize his mouth is moving, grinning like a fool with a smile that just looks ridiculous now, shimmying his shoulders to some song full of profanity and attempts at woke rap lyrics, and Seungkwan’s surprised _Adventure Time_ isn’t actually throwing copyrights at everything. Half the pan of brownies is gone and Hansol is sticking out some lopsided T shape with his fingers saying he’s going to build a nest, almost falls over, and then the video ends.

            Seungkwan just spent eleven minutes of his life watching some dropout stoner boy get high off brownies on camera, and after all the legality of the concept and the annoyance and disgust take a few seconds to go through him, he realizes it’ll be midnight before he’s in bed and he still has no freaking brownie recipe.

            His hands come to the keyboard to scroll into the comments and screech at the kid, but he sucks in a breath and stops himself. He’ll screech at Soonyoung instead.

            He grabs his phone from his pocket and opens their conversation to send

            _Seungkwan: You’ll never guess what I just watched_

It takes hardly a minute for Soonyoung to reply.

            _kwonsoon: tell me tomorrow, cuddling_ with a rosy-cheeked smile and sunflower emoji tacked onto the end.

            Seungkwan comes this close to letting a swear out himself. He’s about to send back _Then why answer you freaking yam_ or _Tell Seungcheol the afterglow can wait, this is important._ But instead he just thwacks his phone face down on his desk and goes for his keyboard again.

            Under the video screen, the description box briefly details the channel by Hansol Vernon Chwe, Korean-American (and the tiny flags to go with it), creator and accidental baker, NYC --> LA. And Seungkwan finally sees the username THvC, and he _really_ should have known. It irks him even more that it’s a completely valid and actually clever play on initials-plus-acronym, and he scoffs again and goes down to click into the comments box to leave what he can only describe as a scathing review.

 

**_BooKwannie_ **

_This is the kind of video that makes me wonder what YouTube’s regulations even actually do. Smoking or ingesting marijuana is detrimental to your body’s natural system and therefore to your overall health. It changes the chemical composition of your brain and knocks your body out of whack from its natural state. It doesn’t matter what form you use—whether you’re smoking it, which I’m sure you do (and smoking weed is still smoking!!), or if you’re absorbing it through the lining of your gut and into your bloodstream. It’s bad for you any way you take it. Putting out videos like this only encourages the use of this drug that is still illegal in many states across the country for good reason. You’re supporting an industry that does more harm than good for humans, all for the sake of looking cool and making some money off of these ridiculous videos._

 

            He’s about to send the comment through when he frowns even harder and adds one more thing.

_And by the way, I use Smart Balance. And the corners are the best part._

 

            Then he flicks his cursor over and mashes his trackpad on the comment button.

            For a moment, as he watches his comment post, he wonders if maybe that was a really rash thing to do. But his pride gets the best of him and he refuses to delete it, scrolling back up and taking one last look at Hansol’s stupidly handsome face that makes stupid dumb decisions, at the suggestions for other videos—one titled _Baking With Hansol Ep. 35 | Marble Swirl Cheesecake!_ and the other called _Is The Moon Real?? | Chronic Rants with HVC_. That one’s two hours and forty-seven minutes. Probably the one Hansol mentioned in the video. Whatever.

            Seungkwan shuts out of Chrome and closes his laptop. Tomorrow morning he’ll just find some blog on Pinterest with a simple brownie recipe by a young mother of three adoring children named something like son Jasper, daughter Amethyst, and surprise baby Quartz, LA classic, and he’ll go to the store for the ingredients so he can bring something Soonyoung will like and that won’t make him more crazy than he already is. Seungkwan wonders if being high would dampen or strengthen Soonyoung’s yoga abilities. Either way, he imagines he’d be _very_ clingy.

            As Seungkwan gets up to go to his bathroom, his phone chimes. He expects Soonyoung, but it’s a notification from YouTube. Two people have disliked his comment on Episode 42. He rolls his eyes and turns off his ringer. “Of course the moon is freaking real,” he mutters, and goes to get ready for bed.


	4. Biscuits

Hansol pulls his bedside drawer open and takes quick stock of his green supply. He’s got enough to last him at least the rest of the week, even if he did do another video, which he’s still deciding on. Fair enough for him since he likes it fresh anyway. He’d rather forgo convenience and visit Wonwoo at the shop twice a week instead of twice a month if it means fresher stuff. Jules Vernon tends to sell out pretty fast anyway, and if Wonwoo hasn’t grown enough to satisfy demand for a few weeks, Hansol could be out of luck—though Wonwoo wouldn’t hesitate to give him something else if Hansol asked. And now even if he doesn’t ask, apparently.

            His high lasted another hour and a half, which kept him from having anywhere near enough focus to edit. He had vague memories during, but when he came out of it he found four blankets curled up around each other on his bed with the general shape of crisscrossed legs in the center, and he figures he really did build a nest. He didn’t sleep though, because he found a note in his phone that said

 

_Video idea ketchup with w and dip frenchf ries_

_go to store; buy french fries and save some for the store. buy ketchup from wonwoo_

_2 pickles_

which should have been enough. But then he went into the kitchen and found M&Ms on the counter in the shape of a McDonald’s French fry box, except the fries inside were green, save for one random blue piece. Whatever Wonwoo gave him, it _really_ made him want some weed French fries, which, sober, sound appalling. Or maybe the green fries were supposed to be pickles, who knows. He just ate the one blue candy and dragged the rest of the M&Ms into a bowl and brought them into his bedroom to munch on while he edited, and when he opened his laptop, YouTube was sitting open with some YTP of Michael Rosen. His YouTube choices when he’s high vary—music videos, aesthetic ASMR cooking videos, conspiracy theories that he has on multiple occasions apparently called Josh about for a one-sided debate. Generally, he doesn’t get _that_ high—maybe once a month at the very most. How was he supposed to expect that Wonwoo was basically going to drug him, anyway?

            He chuckles at himself and pulls out one of his pre-rolled from a metal tin that used to have a lavender scented candle in it. Sometimes he likes to light them when he’s editing or working, and he’s complained to Josh more than once that he wishes he could get a joint that tasted the way Yankee Candle smells when you walk in, to which Josh usually retaliates that Hansol tends to taste colors when he’s high and that should be cool enough. _True_ , Hansol thinks, choosing a smaller joint and closing the tin. As he closes the drawer, he has a brief sensory memory of the mauve aftertaste of the brownies. Being high can be really rad.

            He finds his lighter—one of the bigger, non-disposable ones that Josh got for him last Christmas, his initials engraved into the metal in Copperplate Gothic, Josh said. (In return, with zero discussion between the two of them, he had gotten Josh a crystal wine glass with _his_ initials in fancier cursive—Corneria Script, Josh had told him, like Hansol would’ve known—because even though he stopped smoking a long time ago, Josh’s favorite place in the world is still Napa Valley.) He flicks the lighter open with his favorite sound— _chink_ —and lights up his joint. The end sizzles to life and he draws in a quick puff of air, closing his eyes and sighing it out through his nose. At least he can guarantee that this is the tame cannabis—he bought the stuff he used in his last video yesterday morning, “Because classic brownies require the freshest ingredients,” Wonwoo said, to which he wholeheartedly agreed. It should have been a clue to Hansol when Wonwoo had to go into the back where he grows his stuff to get whatever it is Hansol bought instead of pulling it from his little temperature controlled unit under the counter. Sometimes Wonwoo’s blank face is a little _too_ mysterious. Hansol had to bleep out his name in the video, not realizing he said it in the moment when he was skyrocketing, because Wonwoo takes pride in the fact that his shop isn’t so commercial like some of the others, and that he has some customers he knows very well instead of many customers he sees once or twice ever. He’s never said Hansol is his favorite, but Hansol knows.

            He smiles at the flavor of his favorite cut from Wonwoo (hunter green is the assigned taste-color) as he pads out to his kitchen in slippers that look like Jake from _Adventure Time._ His microwave clock reads nearly 2 am and he needs to go to sleep soon, but he’s got his nightcap in his fingertips and is showered and ready for bed. He just needs to take stock of his _other_ supplies.

            Kneeling, he opens a cabinet and is glad to see his pans, tins, and baking sheets are in order after him being totally whacked. He scoots over and opens his other cabinet to find his cake molds and parchment, aluminum, and cling wrap rolls intact as well. The stove is off—check—and the dishwasher is empty (habit left over from living with his parents: no dirty dishes at the end of the day, and clean ones must be put away). The glass cabinet overhead—bowls, cups, measuring containers, a large collection of various sizes of Mason jar—is sparkling as usual. His knife block is a complete set, and his silverware and cooking utensil drawers are both not a mess. Only thing left is the most important place.

            He takes another drag as he shuffles to the pantry, pulling open the sliding door. Immediately he gasps his smoke back in, because yeah, on the left side where he keeps his every day stuff, he has food and all, but on the right side where he keeps his livelihood he is _way_ low on white flour, and his brown sugar isn’t doing so hot either. Alternative flours are good, baking soda and powder are fine, various oils are fine, white sugar is fine, gelatin sheets are stocked full, food coloring is vibrant in their tiny droppers. But how can he _live_ without white flour? He snaps his fingers once, the joint hanging gently from the side of his lips. Tomorrow is absolutely a trip to the store day, and it’s not French fries and pickles he’s going to buy.

            He closes the pantry with determination and starts back toward his room. But then he stops in his tracks suddenly and moves backward, losing Left Jake. He wiggles his toes back in and turns to his fridge, and thank _god_ he has a box of sticks of butter. Upon closer inspection, sniffing out of his nose to clear away a little cloud of smoke as he leans into the fridge, he notices that they’re all unsalted. That’ll do for sweet baking, but if he ever decides to make something more savory—like in Episode 18 when he made Red Lobster biscuits where the herbs on top weren’t quite the same as the original recipe—he’ll need salted butter.

            “Consider it added,” he says, and shuts his fridge.

            He pads back to his room, repeating _flour brown sugar salted butter flour brown sugar salted butter_ through little puffs of smoke. He finds his phone on his bed and types out a note, deleting the nonsense from before, and decides to add heavy cream to the list too, because he uses way more of that than he should. He’ll go to his favorite little baking supply shop tomorrow after hanging out with Josh in his sad single hour of free time during the Finals Crunch as he calls it (Hansol told him that for the ultimate gift, he’ll come up with a new special candy bar in the THvC style and name it that just for when Josh needs a pick me up; Josh rolled his eyes and laughed) and then he’ll come home and work for a bit, maybe test out a new set of metal icing tips he bought recently on a whim. Josh teases him a lot about how much he loves baking, and how he can’t hide it behind the excuse of making sweets with weed in them. Hansol brushes him off out of maybe the only embarrassment he ever feels in his life anymore, because he knows he’s a great baker and the thing about LA is it gives you this feeling in your gut that golden dreams and childish wishes actually can come true.

            He sighs and takes another pull on his joint, leaning back on his headboard and crossing his ankles. He toes off his slippers and lets them fall to the floor, then goes to his home screen and opens up YouTube.

            Episode 42 has over sixty thousand views now—a beautiful margin considering his follower count. Honestly, getting paid for what he does is…icing on the cake. He snorts and taps into the video, scrolling down so he can look through the comments. Back when he was starting out, he used to be able to read every comment and respond to some of the ones that really caught him, but nowadays there’s way too many to read them all, and he’s made a rule of not responding to any, both for the purposes of people wondering why he picked that one, and because responding to one will lead him down a winding path of responding to as many as he can when he should be sleeping. He scans them, the usual _Great video!_ and _Totally gotta try this_ comments making him smile, the girls calling him hot and _First comment_ comments halfway down the list making him draw on his joint.

            An abnormally long comment makes him scroll slower, and then back up to see what it says out of curiosity. It’s some picket thing, not unlike others he’s gotten before about weed being bad for your body and all that, but in a more pressed tone that he can practically feel through the screen. The end of it makes him laugh, too, and that’s a great way to get his attention. He looks up at the username to see _BooKwannie_ , which is unfairly cute, and quite the coincidence—with a glance at his stats, he wouldn’t guess more than maybe six or eight percent of his followers are Asian, considering the topic of his channel, and that’s only because he _is_ half Asian. Though a comment like this might make sense considering the attitude towards marijuana in Korea.

            The circle next to the account name shows a brown-banged boy who looks fresh from a pop group in Seoul, cheeks round and adorable and eyes big even in such a tiny photo, lips pulled into an endearing smile and a peace sign held up by his face. It would seem hard to believe that this cute little biscuit who was being so kindly PC with him would leave a negative comment on any video, but looking for a long time at him, Hansol can see that this BooKwannie might harbor a secret a take-no-shit attitude.

            But that doesn’t stop him from having such _cute cheeks_.

            Hansol pauses and looks up at his wall. Red Lobster, this adorable biscuit of a boy—that’s a _great_ video idea. Not Cheddar Bay type biscuits but the English kind—thick cookie-like crackers in the style of shortbread that you have with tea and jam. He takes a final look at BooKwannie and smiles halfway, then closes out his YouTube and opens his grocery note again, adding orange extract because the sweeter acidity will go better with the THC than lemon, but almond would be too _blah_.

            Perfect. Now he’s got a list _and_ the idea for his next video. Tomorrow will be a fruitful day of visiting Josh, getting supplies, working, and at least two rolls, he estimates. He takes a final draw on his nightcap and holds it in for a moment, appreciating the warmth of both the smoke and the accomplishment, before dropping the end into the ceramic bowl he keeps bedside and tucking under his covers.


	5. Novelesque

“You know, it’s almost June,” Seungkwan says, bringing his coffee up to sip.

            Soonyoung quirks an eyebrow and takes a glance up at Seungcheol. “Yes?”

            Seungkwan shrugs and leans back into his chair across from the two of them. “It’s just that you look like an Easter egg but the holiday’s long passed.”

            Soonyoung deadpans at him, lips drawing out at the corners and tucking into his cheeks.

            They’re at one of the indie non-Starbucks cafés across the street from a Starbucks at the approximate midpoint between their three apartments—or dorm, in Seungkwan’s case. Not that it would have been trouble for the lovebirds—Soonyoung was already at Seungcheol’s place before they met up anyway. The two of them could actually walk here together when Seungkwan had to pay for a cab. Amazing. Though this time, the location was Seungkwan’s suggestion.

            They were lucky enough to get the back corner section, with one suitable loveseat and two comfy chairs around a small coffee table. Seungkwan took a chair, and Seungcheol took the center of the loveseat. Soonyoung is sideways on the little sofa, his legs bent over Seungcheol’s in tight distressed jeans, leaning back against the armrest in a pastel green sweater with a pink stripe across the chest—always the light dichotic opposite to Seungcheol’s fresh-from-the-rack dark street style with a hint of business casual, never-faded black jeans and fitted black shirts that show off his biceps. Seungcheol’s left hand holds an iced black coffee while his right rests on one of Soonyoung’s thighs, first two fingers tucked into one of the open rips, any opportunity for skin-to-skin contact taken promptly by the both of them.

            They’re cute enough that Seungkwan would love to wring the life out of them.

            “And aren’t we in college, because you look like a fourth grader,” Soonyoung counters, holding up his mug of London Fog in both tiny palms.

            Seungkwan frowns over the rim of his mug of hot Americano. “Harsh.”

            “I think you look cute,” Seungcheol says, looking sideways at Soonyoung with his easy smile on—the face Seungkwan would kill to have made at him by literally any boy with Seungcheol’s qualifications who isn’t Seungcheol.

            Soonyoung smiles big, eyes squinting up, and does an easy sit-up to give Seungcheol a quick kiss. “Thank you.”

            “That’s the freaking problem,” Seungkwan says, tapping his heels on the base of the chair. “You _still_ look cute.”

            “And so do you,” Soonyoung says. “In a schoolboy kind of way, with your straight jeans and…” He practically shudders but swallows it. “Polo shirt.”

            “Listen this was all I had,” Seungkwan says, though there’s no way he should have to explain himself to an Easter egg. “And don’t try to console me, you yam.”

            Seungcheol snorts as Soonyoung scrunches his face at Seungkwan. “That’s a good one, I like it,” Seungcheol says. He squeezes Soonyoung’s thigh and says in a lighter tone, “You do eat a lot of sweet potatoes.”

            “Thanks, I thought of it last night,” Seungkwan says. “When you refused to answer me.”

            “That would be my fault,” Seungcheol says.

            “I told you we were cuddling,” Soonyoung says at the same time.

            Seungcheol looks at Soonyoung looking at Seungkwan, and he makes a face like what Soonyoung said isn’t true and he’s confused, and Seungkwan doesn’t even want to know what Soonyoung actually paused to answer his text.

            “Okay, that’s…” Seungkwan closes his eyes. “Never mind.”

            One of Soonyoung’s legs stretches out and starts to lift up as he looks purposefully at Seungkwan to ask, “Well, what was it anyway? Tea to spill?” He takes a nonchalant sip of his own tea as his socked foot—white with dime-sized sparkly gold polka dots—approaches Seungcheol’s cheek and he pokes him with his toe. Seungcheol blinks and laughs, saying a quiet _Babyyy_ , and using it as an excuse to move his hand up Soonyoung’s thigh another inch, and slide it inward a little too.

            Soonyoung giggles into his earl grey, steam coming up in a little puff, and Seungkwan could actually vomit.

            “Not really,” Seungkwan says. “I was looking for a recipe for brownies for your party—”

            “I _love_ brownies,” Soonyoung says. “Perfect choice.”

            Seungkwan puts a hand out. “I know. And so I went onto YouTube for a recipe and here’s the part where you’ll never guess what I watched.”

            Immediately, Seungcheol’s lips start to curve like he understands, but Soonyoung tilts his head. “Was it…not brownies?”

            Seungkwan laughs humorlessly. “Oh, it was brownies all right. Problem is I fell for the word _baking_.”

            Soonyoung thinks for another second or two, and then it dawns on him. “Oh my _god_. Breaking freaking news. Marijuana hater and advocate for a drug-free society Boo Seungkwan watches video of person baking weed brownies.” He makes a motion with his hands like this is the world’s greatest development, and Seungkwan watches his tea come millimeters away from spilling all over the floor. “This is legendary.”

            Seungkwan sighs. “It was ridiculous. It wasn’t even an instructional video. Like, he spent a few minutes talking about how much chemical was in each serving, but otherwise it was just him eating and talking, and swearing _so much_. And then he ate half the pan and was half a brain by the end of it.”

            Soonyoung laughs and puts one of his hands over Seungcheol’s on his thigh. “Look at our boy now, baby. Finally breaking into it.” Seungcheol just shakes his head and lets Soonyoung drag his hand a little further up.

            Seungkwan frowns at Soonyoung. “Don’t be even more ridiculous. As if anything like _that_ guy could make me want to come anywhere near that stuff.”

            Soonyoung shrugs, pretty much ignoring the attitude. “Okay, but here’s my question—why did you watch the whole video then?”

            Seungkwan tenses. He’s actually asked himself that question a few times since last night when he watched it, and he can’t find an answer. At least, not one that won’t make Soonyoung get even more crazy about his personal life.

            “I mean, you must have known,” Soonyoung continues. “Like, from the beginning. Don’t they usually have the food in the thumbnail in those mukbang videos?” he asks, looking up at Seungcheol, who confirms it with a nod.

            Seungkwan huffs. “I…well, I thought it was like, white chocolate chips or something.”

            Soonyoung lets out a long _pfff._ “Wow, Seungkwan. You’re really innocent.”

            Seungkwan frowns again and brings his mug back up. “Well, whatever. Long story short, I didn’t get a brownie recipe from that guy.”

            “You still didn’t answer my question,” Soonyoung says. “And you keep saying _that guy_. Something’s up here, Kwannie, and I want you to show me this video.”

            Nope. No freaking way Seungkwan is going to pull up this Hansol guy on his phone and show Soonyoung. He already knows exactly what Soonyoung would say. “I think that’s actually a terrible idea, as well as unnecessary because I watched it by accident and you know how I feel about that stuff anyway.”

            “You don’t watch an entire mukbang by accident,” Soonyoung says. “What did you even search?”

            Seungkwan makes a face like that has nothing to do with it. “Just brownies, why does that ma—” He stops and is filled with an oncoming sense of dread as Soonyoung reaches into his back pocket. Terrible mistake. All he can hope for now is that it doesn’t show up on Soonyoung’s feed. “Please don’t.”

            “Why not?” Soonyoung says, wordlessly handing his mug over to Seungcheol who takes it and sets it on the coffee table for him before leaning back to watch Soonyoung’s phone screen. “Something you’re not telling me, Kwan?”

            “No, because I know what goes on in that novelesque head of yours and you’ll think that—”

            “Oh my _freaking god_.”

            Seungkwan prevents a whine of dismay and shrinks back in his seat.

            “Is _this_ the freaking guy?” Soonyoung says, sitting up to let his legs go off the couch and shoving his phone closer to his face. “Seungkwan, oh my god, like—what the hell? He is so freaking hot.” He looks up at Seungkwan with tabulating ideas all over his face. “Please tell me this is the guy.”

            He turns his phone around with the right video front and center: _Baking With Hansol Episode 42_. Seungkwan says nothing—all his words are stuck in his lower throat—but his face must say enough.

            Soonyoung gasps loudly and looks at his screen again. “ _Kwannie_. Hansol is his name? I can see why you watched the whole video—I bet you couldn’t take your eyes off him. Oh my god. I’m seriously—does he live here? Tell me he’s not across the country or in Korea. Pleeease tell me.”

            Seungkwan just lets his body slump into his chair. This is so not what he wanted to do today. “He lives in LA…”

            Soonyoung squeals and is scrolling through his phone, and Seungkwan figures he must have gone into the channel to peruse handsome thumbnails. Seungcheol is watching the screen, the middle of his brows down a bit. “This is literally _exactly_ what I was just saying you need, Kwan!” Soonyoung practically shouts. “This guy is literally a young movie star. He looks like our age, no? God, he’s gorgeous.”

            Seungkwan _knows_ that—he’s actually _really really_ aware of it. Nothing else would have made him watch that whole stupid video. “I know that, Soonyoung. And he’s a total stoner.”

            Soonyoung waves his hand like that doesn’t matter when actually it matters a lot to Seungkwan. “Oh well,” Soonyoung says, “you can just roll with it. It’s not like you have to do it too. I mean, look at him. Like, you two would make such a freaking perfect couple.”

            Seungkwan rolls his eyes. “Soonyoung—”

            “Honestly, you should just date right now. Besides, you really should get high at least once in your life anyway. And just so you know, sex when you’re high is like—” He brings his hand to his head and splays his fingers with an explosion sound.

            “Soonyoung, I’m gonna kill—”

            “Wait, I totally know that guy,” Seungcheol finally says. He snaps his fingers and smiles. “Yeah, THvC. Now I remember.”

            Soonyoung gasps and looks at his boyfriend. “You know him for real?”

            Why does something inside Seungkwan’s chest jump at that, when at the same time he really hopes Seungcheol has never met the guy.

            Seungcheol shakes his head. “No. I watched a couple of his videos a long time ago—like a year or more maybe, when he was pretty new. Honestly, I think my friend knew how to roll a blunt because of him. I didn’t know he lived here though. What a coincidence.” He smiles at Soonyoung.

            “He’s probably not even gay,” Seungkwan interjects.

            Soonyoung lands an electric gaze on him; Seungkwan can practically see an anime flash of blue light from his irises. “So you’re _interested_.”

            Seungkwan rolls his eyes. “All I said was he’s probably not gay, Soonyoung.”

            “It’s LA. Everyone’s at least a little gay.”

            Seungkwan makes a face. “What does that even—just because we’re surrounded by each other all the time and _are_ gay doesn’t mean he is. Did he _say_ anything that made him seem gay? I’ve watched the video and can attest to a big no.”

            “Lack of proof of existence does not disprove existence itself,” Soonyoung says didactically. He gets this very determined look on his face then, and he puts his phone down to wrap his arms around Seungcheol’s neck, turning sideways to face him. Seungkwan watches one of Seungcheol’s broad hands go immediately to Soonyoung’s waist, and _where_ does he find that? “Baby,” Soonyoung says. “This is really important to me. We have to find him, and we have to set them up.”

            Seungkwan rolls his eyes even harder. Every day spent with the two of them together is a master class in third wheeling. “You know I’m right here.”

            “It could be an impossible endeavor,” Seungcheol says, dipping his fingers just under the hem of Soonyoung’s sweater.

            Soonyoung hums. “I know. But he’s perfect, and Kwannie _seriously_ needs to get laid.”

            Seungkwan almost actually stands. “Okay, that’s enough. Honestly, I—”

            His phone lights up on the table, and dear _god_ this is not happening and _why_ did he put it there?

            Soonyoung leans over and takes it faster than Seungkwan can. “Why do you have a notification from YouTube that your comment has been disliked? Your comment on…” His mouth opens in a perfect O and Seungkwan leans over to snatch the phone away as fast as he can. “ _You commented_ ,” Soonyoung breathes out. “Seungkwan, you perfect fool!”

            In that moment, sitting back down and shoving his phone under his leg, Seungkwan understands that no matter how hard he tries, Soonyoung is going to weasel his way into every nook and cranny of this situation, and he will know everything practically before Seungkwan even does. He’d probably spend an hour scrolling through that comment section if it meant reading what Seungkwan said. He might as well just come clean. “Look, I was tired and frustrated and I just—spilled my scathing opinions on there, okay? And I was too full of myself to delete it.”

            Soonyoung squeezes his eyes shut and brings clutched hands to his chest. “Bless your pride for once in my life. This is the first step. This is the beginning.”

            “I’m pretty sure he reads comments,” Seungcheol says.

            This time the jump in Seungkwan’s chest is one of absolute anxiety. “No. Let’s—let’s really hope he does not do that.”

            “Let’s hope he _does_ ,” Soonyoung insists.

            “He used to, at least,” Seungcheol says. “Back when he wasn’t as popular. What’s he at now, baby?”

            Soonyoung picks his phone back up and gets big eyes. “Nearly three hundred thousand. Holy shit. Also.” He scrolls for a second and then taps his screen. “Subscribed.”

            Seungkwan hangs his head. Now he’ll be hearing this from Soonyoung for way, _way_ longer than he ever thought was going to happen when he sent Soonyoung that text last night. If only he hadn’t sent it. If only Hansol wasn’t stupid good-looking and made him watch the whole video. If only he’d never come across the video in the first place. If only Soonyoung _freaking liked cake._

            “Kudos to him,” Soonyoung says. “Too bad though—that’s a lot of comments to go through.”

            Seungkwan sends silent thanks to the YouTube gods for that one.

            “I’d say there’s still a good chance, though,” Seungcheol says.

            And suddenly Seungkwan is no longer YouTube religious. He looks with pain at Seungcheol. “Please no.”

            “Would you say you wrote a longer comment?” Seungcheol asks.

            Seungkwan is about to say that it wasn’t _that_ long and that other people probably wrote ones that long too, or longer. But Soonyoung clearly speaks for him now.

            “He definitely did,” Soonyoung tells his boyfriend with a sure nod. “In said scathing style of psychologist Boo Seungkwan on a rant about healthy brain function.”

            Seungcheol nods. “Well then, there’s honestly no telling what that guy’ll do.” He puts his hand back on Soonyoung’s thigh and draws tiny amoebas with his middle finger. “He could miss it or pass over it entirely due to sheer comment volume. But he did say he reads them before, and if he’s in a slappy high, there’s a chance he might answer happily.” He shrugs again and hands Soonyoung his tea back, taking a sip of his own coffee. “Who knows though. That guy’s high like, all the time.”

            Soonyoung sticks out his lower lip and turns back onto the couch arm, tenting his legs over Seungcheol’s thighs again. “Hm. It really is a matter of chance then.”

            “It’s a matter of it _doesn’t_ matter because even if he did answer I won’t be wasting my time conversing with someone who just smokes pot all the time,” Seungkwan says. He pulls his phone out from under his leg to check the time, and it’s early, but anything is an excuse at this point. “Oh, would you look at that. Done o’clock. Excuse me while I run away.” He stands and grips his mug in one hand, shoving his phone in his fourth-grader jeans pocket with the other.

            Soonyoung frowns up at him. “Oh no you don’t. You can’t just walk out now.”

            Seungkwan raises his eyebrows. “I absolutely can. In fact, I have to go to the store to get baking stuff for _your_ birthday. I found a _different_ recipe that I think you’ll like.”

            Soonyoung lights up, fickle in his moods as always. “Oh!” And then he looks suspiciously like he has a brilliant idea. “Hey, are you going to The Blue Shop a couple blocks from here?”

            “That’s why I picked here,” Seungkwan says. Anything to make his life a little easier—he’ll just walk and then cab home from there.

            Soonyoung smiles widely. “Isn’t there a really cute Korean boy who works there?”

            “Mhm,” Seungcheol says. “Seokmin. Son of one of my dad’s friends.”

            Soonyoung gives Seungkwan an obvious _Get on it_ look.

            Fickle in his choices of suitor for Seungkwan too then, it seems. And jeez, they really _do_ move in packs. He ignores the look. “I’ll have boring drug-free brownies for your party tomorrow.”

            “Fine,” Soonyoung says. “I still want YouTube Boy for you instead anyway. You have a tough shell.”

            Seungkwan just looks at Seungcheol. “I’ll text you when I’m headed over to set up?”

            Seungcheol gives him an OK sign. “Cool. See you.”

            “Bye.” Seungkwan turns to go give his mug back and leave.

            “ _Bye_ , Kwan,” Soonyoung calls after him. Behind him, Seungkwan hears Soonyoung turn back to Seungcheol and say, “I am _so_ hooking them up _._ ” And then a chuckle from Seungcheol, and then he can hear them making out, and he escapes as fast as he can.


	6. Hurt Less

Where Hansol knows he fills one of the many archetypes of LA denizen—laid back stoner—Joshua has never liked to admit that he fits another. Well, he kind of has bits about him that allow him to fit into lots of different niches, which Hansol thinks is really cool, and which lands Josh a lot of dates. He listens to music no one has ever heard of, which slots him into the intellectual indie category. He’s going to school for linguistics so he can be an accent coach, which lets him chunk in with the Hollywood crowd. He spends a good percentage of his free time on the sand and water, which both gives him a killer tan and makes him great at bodyboarding—henceforth, beach bum. And he _loves_ Instagramming his Starbucks, which means he’s a quintessential basic bitch.

            “A little higher,” Joshua says, angling his phone camera toward the window.

            Hansol laughs and holds his vanilla cold brew up more so the light can hit it right. “Funny—I tell that to myself a lot.”

            Joshua chuckles and takes his photo—light hand around clear coffee with sweet cream seeping like ink, tanned hand around purple coconut milk and dark blackberries of Joshua’s Violet Drink. “You have great hands for that,” he says, looking at the photo on his phone before putting it on the table.

            Hansol smiles and sips his coffee. “Jihoon used to say that when I rolled for him.”

            Joshua tilts his head and blinks at his friend. “Yeah? How’s he doing anyway?”

            Hansol leans back in his chair. “Last I heard he has some fifteen songs under his copyright now.”

            “Wow.” Joshua makes an impressed face, brows going up. “That’s awesome. He really made it, didn’t he?”

            Hansol nods. “Totally. I’m proud of him.”

            Joshua takes a sip from his straw and hums. “Still miss him.”

            Hansol sighs and shrugs one shoulder. To Joshua, it doesn't look easy. “Sure," Hansol says. "I mean, I’ll always have a place for him, you know?”

            “You guys really were in love.”

            Hansol smiles down at his drink. “I was.” When Joshua doesn’t say anything, Hansol taps his finger on his cup and asks, “Anything ever come of that girl from Tuesdays?”

            Joshua laughs gently. “Nah, not really. A night or two.”

            Hansol shakes his head and laughs.

            “But we agreed on end credits there,” Joshua says. “And the weekly Tuesday seminar ends with the semester anyway, so. That’d make a great film title though, huh? _The Girl from Tuesday_.”

            “Starring perpetual bachelor Joshua Hong.” Hansol raises his drink to him, doing a half-smile at the way Joshua rolls his eyes but can’t hold back a grin.

            “It’ll happen one day,” Joshua says. “Thing is, I’m content being a bachelor and enjoying my time as one while _you_ , Hansol Chwe, are a hopeless romantic with leftover maudlin feels from a beautiful relationship that could never have lasted.”

            Hansol hisses in through his teeth. “Ouch. Bad timing.”

            “It’s been over a year, Hansol,” Joshua says.

            Hansol only looks at him. “Things hurt less when I’m high.”

            Joshua leans forward a little and locks in on Hansol’s gaze. “Now isn’t that such an honest thing.”

            Hansol sighs, and he has to look away from his friend. He and Joshua met some four years ago, and Josh learned very quickly that Hansol is someone who is content being alone, but loves the company of people. And, as such a hopeless romantic as Joshua says, company of someone affectionate is something Hansol enjoys. Finding Jihoon—putting himself out there and going places and actually _finding_ Jihoon—was the most exquisite thing to happen to him in his life. Lee Jihoon was Hansol’s first high, in every sense of the word. His first real love, his first time making love, his first time breathing smoke, his first time having his heart broken. Since Jihoon left, Hansol took a step back. The finding didn’t work. It would be better for him to give timing a chance, to let something else decide.

            But that is the thing that _he_ doesn’t admit to. What he’s really done all this time is played it safe, and kept himself from other things. How long is he going to allow himself to wait?

            He clears his throat and says, “I’m chill being single.” He puts a hand out. “You know I’m chill.”

            “The chillest,” Joshua agrees, leaning back and bringing his straw to his lips.

            Hansol nods a thank you. “And you may be right about all that, but I’m okay. And I’m just done actively looking, I guess? I like my life how it is now. And if something comes my way and it feels like, you know, _right_ …” He shrugs again and takes a long gulp of his drink. “Then, well, I’ll accept it gladly.”

            Joshua smiles fondly and shakes his head. “You are way too twenty years old to be talking like that.”

            Hansol chuckles. “Never too soon.”

            “I just want you to be happy like you were then.”

            “I know, Josh. Something will come through. And I’m very happy right now.” He grins. “ _And_ I’m totally sober.”

            Joshua sighs a laugh. “Hansol Vernon Chwe.”

            “Jo-Shua Hong.” Hansol tends to his coffee.

            “How’s your alter ego?” Joshua asks after a moment. “Like, what happened at the end of your last one, dude? You were going loopy. You let a fourth grade swear word slip.”

            Hansol squeezes his eyes shut. “Oh my—” He slaps a hand to his forehead. “I know. I haven’t said freaking on my channel in like, since episode five.” He chuckles. “Wonwoo _totally_ messed with me.”

            “Oh god,” Joshua says through laughter. “He really drugged you, didn’t he?”

            Hansol shakes his head, still in disbelief over it—over the French fries and the one blue M&M. “Whatever he gave me was like, four times as potent as the usual. Which he knows, and it hit me hard. I haven’t gotten that high that fast since I totally oversaturated the syrup on those _dango_ from episode, what—”

            “Twenty-seven,” Joshua reminds him.

            Hansol grins. “Still my number one fan. That was some sublingual high if I ever had one. Anyway, I can’t wait for Wonwoo to laugh at me the next time I head in there.”

            Joshua pinches the bridge of his nose. “That’s so not legal, dude.”

            Hansol laughs. “Definitely. I’ll find a way to get him back.” He sips his coffee and asks, “The rest was okay though, right?”

            Joshua lifts an eyebrow. “Since when is THvC self-conscious about his videos?”

            “It’s not that,” Hansol says with a hum. “I just haven’t gotten such a social warrior comment in a couple weeks and was wondering if I did something different.”

            Joshua’s eyebrows go up again. “Oh? Okay,” he puts his drink down and his palms out, “first, you probably get them on all your videos but you don’t see all the comments. Second, you actually _read_ the comments? You must get hundreds per.” Hansol shrugs and sips. “Okay, and third, show me it because those things are hilarious.”

            Hansol laughs and pulls out his phone. He starts going into his YouTube, then remembers that he went back in this morning when he kept thinking about the comment and took a screenshot of it. “This guy just ranted at me for like twenty lines about how it’s bad for me and stuff.” He taps into his camera roll. “I mean.” He finds the recent photo and hands his phone over to Joshua. “I’ve gotten plenty like it before but doesn’t this one just seem so…so _scathing_?”

            Joshua does small laughs at certain lines— _(and smoking weed is still smoking!!)_ —and a bigger one at the very end. “I _told_ you corners are the best part, dude. Thanks a lot for roasting me, by the way.”

            Hansol’s nose scrunches in apology. “Sorry. Though to be fair, that was my alter ego roasting you, and you know I couldn’t care less which part of the brownie I’m eating.” Joshua nods like that’s definitely true. “But the middle is where it’s at,” Hansol adds quickly, and laughs when Joshua shoves his phone back at him.

            “But seriously, kudos to him for being brave enough to try and make a point,” Joshua says. “Look at the number of dislikes on that thing.”

            “I’m honestly surprised that biscuit didn’t cook me more than he did.” Hansol chuckles and looks at the screenshot again, zooming in a little on the profile photo of BooKwannie. “Oh, by the way—that’s my next video idea. I’m gonna try and do some kind of English biscuit and jam and stuff.” He laughs. “Google searches ‘how to bake weed into shortbread’.” Another laugh and he sips his coffee, looking at his screen

            But Joshua is just sitting there staring at him. “Wait, hold up. _Who?_ ”

            Hansol makes a confused face. “What do you mean who? English biscuits?”

            Joshua frowns at him. “If I’m not mistaken, you just called your _commenter_ a biscuit. And to me that sounds oddly similar to a snack, albeit a very cute version.”

            Hansol’s eyes get a little bigger. “Ohh, BooKwannie. Yeah, the guy who wrote the comment. I was just talking about his profile picture.” He turns his screen around and shows the zoomed in photo, round cheeks and peace sign a little grainier than he’d like. “Totally someone who could cook me to death, eh?”

            Joshua inspects the photo. “And you chose biscuit because…?”

            Hansol makes a _duh_ face. “You said it yourself. Biscuits are cute. I mean, can you _see_ his cheeks and golden skin?” He shakes his head like Joshua is ridiculous and turns his phone back to look.

            Joshua watches his best friend, watches his eyes flick over the screen, hovering in certain small spaces for moments at a time. He chooses his words, though Hansol might not be able to totally hear him right now. He tends to get like that. “And what are you going to do about that?”

            Hansol shrugs, sipping his drink and humming an _I don’t know._ His eyes aren’t leaving his phone screen.

            It’s been a long time since Joshua has seen that look. A little over a year. He tilts his head and says quietly, “Something coming through.”

            Hansol finally looks up, straw slipping from between his lips. “Huh?”

            Joshua smiles and picks up his drink again. “Nothing.”

            Hansol tilts his head to the side in return. Then his eyes widen and he looks at his phone screen once more before closing it and putting it in his pocket. “Bro, I’ve gotta run by the shop before it closes.”

            Joshua lifts a questioning eyebrow again. “Wonwoo’s shop of horrors?” he asks. “Black and red sledgehammer hole in the wall and home of THvC’s main Mary man, producer of Jules Vernon and player of drone metal or bubblegum techno, depending on the day? Not to mention that bizarre assortment of clown masks hanging by nails on the wall behind the counter.”

            “Okay, calm down,” Hansol laughs out. Not that it isn’t a perfect description of Wonwoo’s place—Lost Soul, derived from the clever combination of his two cities, Los Seoul. Though Hansol thinks it’s a totally unique and cool place, perfect for its purpose, he only brought Josh in there once before he realized he was completely not vibing. “I know you and him never hit it off quite parallel.”

            “I think perpendicular is the word you’re looking for. He makes selling so…” He does a face like he smelled something. “ _Business_.”

            Hansol groans. “Good lord. Write a memoir about being a true weed dealer, okay? Now that you’re such a good church boy with a body count higher than the number of days in February.” Joshua laughs with good nature, chin tilting up, and Hansol smiles. “Nah, The Blue Shop,” he says. “I’m looking for some orange extract and there’s no better bet on quality than Seokmin’s family place.”

            Joshua hums against his straw. “True. I have to go study my ass off anyway. Is it wrong that you only go to places either managed or owned by Asians and their sons?”

            “Gotta support,” Hansol says, lifting his drink once more before standing from his seat. “I’ll see you later, man. Let’s meet after your final final and I’ll roll you one of my best, okay? You’ll deserve it.”

            Joshua smiles and thinks about what Hansol said. _Things hurt less._ “Text me?” he says this time.

            Hansol replies with the usual, and a perfectly Hansol smile. “Got you.”


	7. The Blue Shop, Scene I

The sign above the entrance to the little baking supply store says _The Blue Shop_ in neat navy serif typeface. Seungkwan imagines it flickering to life in glowing sapphire neon, or tiny flowers growing out from the letters with accompanying harp music. It’s honestly an adorable little shop, and a bell rings with movie-like aptness when he pushes open the door.

            It all makes sense then—robin egg blue walls, royal and turquoise and sea glass packaging for most of the products, waterfall instrumental music playing softly from invisible speakers. Even the person behind the front counter is in blue: light denim jeans and a blue button-up with vertical white stripes that shouldn’t look nice but do.

            He greets Seungkwan as he steps in, and it takes Seungkwan a second to realize it was in Korean. He double takes at the shop worker, and this _must_ be Seokmin. Soonyoung was right—he really is good looking. Thick dark hair, sharp features, a body that looks solid and totally huggable. Not to mention a smile with enough wattage to power this side of the city, and small eyes hidden by the most perfect crescents Seungkwan has ever seen. He bows a little—something Seungkwan got used to not seeing since he moved here in elementary school with his parents—and his smile doesn’t even think of faltering.

            Seungkwan almost forgets to bow back, doing an unfortunate pigeon-like movement instead. “Afternoon,” he says, forgetting Korean entirely for some reason.

            “Welcome in,” probably Seokmin says. “Looking for anything in particular?”

            “No, I’m good, thanks,” is Seungkwan’s immediate response, paired with an effortful smile. What the heck. Soonyoung would hate him for doing that. Force of habit, he figures.

            Probably Seokmin (who does actually have a little nametag, but Seungkwan can’t read it from here) just smiles that smile and nods. “Let me know if I can help you with anything.”

            Seungkwan stutter steps toward the aisle that looks like bags of flour. “Okay. Thanks.”

            God, he’s awkward. Seungcheol would never.

            He sighs at himself as he makes his way into the aisle, looking up at the shelves of blue paper bags. He could have just gone to the supermarket and gotten some boxed brownie mix, but he does actually like his best friend sometimes and thought homemade would be cooler, and he could brag about it to Soonyoung and make it clear to him that he can’t complain about what Seungkwan brought because they were made with _love_ , darn it. He ended up just finding a regular old brownie recipe and decided to put white chocolate chips in them because it _is_ a good idea. He considered crushing peppermint candies too, those swirly red and white ones, to sprinkle over the top with extra white chips, but there’s a fine and extremely blurry line between _Oh my gosh this vegan gluten free avocado ninety-two percent cocoa coconut sugar cacao nib star anise brownie is amazing!_ Soonyoung and _Who puts peppermint in brownies?_ Soonyoung. For this, the simpler the better, and the recipe seems great for Soonyoung’s taste in texture, so if Seungkwan can at least get that part right he should be in the clear.

            He gazes up at the shelves, aweing at the shades of blue that fade from an arctic ice color on the left to deep sea indigo on the right in a beautifully done gradient. Seungkwan imagines Seokmin arranging the shelves every time they get more products, delighting in the obsessive-compulsive color tendency. With the way the packaging is, Seungkwan figures they probably also get bulk deliveries of each kind of flour and disperse them into the blue bags, which means Seokmin probably has great arms and shoulders and a lovely back. Each bag has a white sticker label with typewriter font that says the kind of flour, the weight in grams of the bag, and so on. It looks like cobalt is the one Seungkwan wants—plain, refined, bleached, unhealthy all-purpose white flour. He reaches for it and plucks it off the shelf—a nice, not so much he’ll have flour for the rest of his non-baker life weight of product—and sees that there’s only one bag left after that. Cobalt is popular then. Or maybe it’s because most people don’t know how to bake with almond, amaranth, buckwheat, chickpea, and the rest of the flours in alphabetical order that Seungkwan has never used or eaten in his life.

            He only needs cocoa powder and white chocolate chips then. He looks up at the ceiling to find no hanging directories of what’s in each aisle, which is really perfect, but he notices when he looks back down that the next aisle across the center break between the two sets of shelves has what appears to be smaller paper bags of things, which deductive reasoning tells him could be a good sign.

            He starts over there, and when he passes through the break, he looks over at the front counter. He makes eye contact with probably Seokmin, who just smiles at him, and Seungkwan feels his face heat up, and he looks away and hurries past the safety of the shelf edge. He stands there and spots a little baby blue bag that says _100_ % _Cocoa Powder_ , and he shakes his head at himself for being so lame as he picks it up and tucks it in his arm with the flour. This is exactly the reason he doesn’t have a boyfriend—he’s terrible at people. Soonyoung’s always telling him to just smile and say hi, to be confident, to not be afraid of making the first move, but it’s all coming from someone who’s so confident and happy that he’s basically unaware of how ridiculous and pretty he is. Which is infuriatingly unfair, Seungkwan thinks, because Soonyoung puts no effort into his personality and landed a fantastic boyfriend, while Seungkwan tries hard to be an interesting person and lands awkward momentary eye contact with the cute boy who works in The Blue Shop, yielding this embarrassment while he tries to find white chocolate chips.

            What he needs is someone who makes the first move for him. Soonyoung went up to Seungcheol first—Seungkwan was literally there when they met, when they were walking along Third Street Promenade for some of Soonyoung’s monthly retail therapy (almost inevitably a new pair of leggings and shorts for his “schoolwork” and/or some galaxy bath bomb from Lush) and Soonyoung spotted Seungcheol in J.Crew holding up a black silk shirt and without a moment’s hesitation banked a left to walk right in and talk to him like nothing about it was weird. It was both awe- and envy-inspiring for Seungkwan, because the moment Seungcheol laid eyes on Soonyoung he got that smile about him that he always does now when he looks at Soonyoung, and to Seungkwan it was amazing and he was really happy for his best friend, but he was so envious of Soonyoung’s social prowess and annoyed at the fact that he has zero of the confidence necessary to one, hit on a stranger, or two, pick out a stranger that will actually respond to that kind of thing. There’s just no way Seungkwan could do anything like that, and no way Miscellaneous Target Male would react to him the way Seungcheol did to Soonyoung. There’s some other level of person he needs, though he doesn’t know what it is, and being _in_ person makes things scary. And yes, Soonyoung has mentioned online dating before, and Seungkwan is _so_ not interested in meeting some rando online and being completely catfished and ending up with a weirdo or a creep in real life. Why can’t things just fall into place for him?

            His thoughts have brought him to the next aisle closer to the front, and it’s full of Mason jars of various loose things one might need for baking: rainbow sprinkles and rosemary sprigs, rolls of cinnamon bark and sticks of licorice root, chunks of Himalayan pink salt and red and white swirled peppermint candies. He sends a telepathic apology to the last on that list as he passes them, searching the shelves for his last ingredient. He finds white chocolate chips that are tiny spheres instead of the classic chip shape, and he’s totally down for that. He really just wants to get home since his thoughts put him in a mood and he has to study anyway. He takes one of the white chocolate sphere jars—curled blue ribbon around the lid—and heads up to the counter.

            “Hi,” he says, unloading his armful onto the speckled stone countertop. Even the granite has flecks of reflective blue in it.

            “That’ll be it for you?” probably Seokmin—no, the nametag confirms it’s _actually_ Seokmin—says, as he pulls the bag of flour toward him, flashing his smile.

            “Mhm,” Seungkwan replies with a nod. He takes out his wallet from his fourth-grader jeans and suddenly feels self-conscious about what he’s wearing.

            “The white chocolate is vegan, by the way,” Seokmin informs him, manually inputting number codes he appears to have muscle-memorized for each of the items into his system with quick, quite pretty fingers instead of using a barcode scanner. “Only six ingredients!”

            “Oh. I didn’t know,” Seungkwan says, and is he really such an idiot for not realizing until right now that it’s an attempt at conversation? He could have mentioned that his friend who he’s making brownies for is an intermittent fan of vegan things—he’s pescatarian actually, and tomorrow is his early birthday party since he’s going to New England with his boyfriend on his actual birthday—and six ingredients sounds pretty healthy for chocolate, even though white chocolate technically isn’t chocolate, and my name’s Seungkwan, by the way, nice to meet you. But the moment passed. Besides—is Seokmin, like, _saying_ something, or just being a good worker?

            Seungkwan imagines Soonyoung dropkicking him for being so clueless. Seokmin is handsome and it would knock Soonyoung’s polka dot socks off to hear that Seungkwan properly introduced himself and made light conversation. He can practically hear Soonyoung’s squeal, his little fists up by his chest shaking in excitement. (Honestly, his hands provide zero surface area for his handstands and Seungkwan wonders how strong he must really be to hold them for _that_ freaking long.) But for that, Seungkwan would have to put in effort, and either his weakness, his surly attitude when he puts himself in a bad mood by overthinking, or something else he isn’t aware of is keeping him from wanting to do that.

            Seokmin doesn’t seem phased by anything, so he must just be a good worker and all-around nice guy to anyone; aka Seungkwan is nobody in particular. “We try to source organic and natural. This is probably the healthiest version of all-purpose flour you’ll find,” Seokmin says. He does a little laugh, and it’s a little high-pitched.

            No doubt it’s cute, and Seungkwan smiles, but he can’t find it in him to react the way Soonyoung would like. “Really? That’s cool.”

            Seokmin pulls a paper bag (brown, unfortunately, but with a dark blue B printed on it in the font of the sign outside) out from under the counter and opens it with a flick of his forearms. “I think so. Your total comes to twenty-three sixty.”

            Seungkwan accidentally makes a face. He can’t imagine this would cost more than twelve dollars at the supermarket. The price he pays for cobalt, ribbons, and fewer ingredients. “Okay.”

            He hands over his card, and Seokmin swipes and hands it back, turning around the touchscreen register system for Seungkwan to sign on. He does, and he puts his wallet away and takes his paper bag of paper bags and reminds himself that he should recycle more often.

            “Have a good one,” Seokmin says, and Seungkwan nods and pushes out a “You too.” The bell on the door kicks him on the way out.

            He starts down the sidewalk to go stand under the shade of some store’s overhang to get an Uber instead of a cab. He hikes up the bag in his elbow, and these better be some amazing twenty-three-dollar brownies. If he hears one word of complaint from Soonyoung.

            What Soonyoung will _really_ complain about is Seungkwan’s lack of story when he asks him about this visit to The Blue Shop, later over the phone most likely. Seungkwan feels a little bit spineless, and like he missed out on some opportunity at that pretty blue-flecked counter. But at the same time, he also feels almost relieved, like something is left available now that wouldn’t have been if…

            He huffs and forgets about it. It’s almost June and it’s getting hot out. And Soonyoung _really_ better like these brownies.


	8. The Blue Shop, Scene II

Hansol jaywalks to cross the street, hopping up onto the sidewalk on the other side. He drops his coffee cup into a trash can outside a store and looks up the next block at the sign for the Lee family store with the most rad meta name ever: The Blue Shop. Blue, as he calls it endearingly, is his favorite place, next to Lost Soul. The contrast between the two shops is beautiful to his romanticist heart (though he’s not sure the manager of Lost Soul and the daily worker at Blue have ever met each other) and he draws inspiration from the two locations for one of his biggest dreams, which—

            He can just barely hear the little bell on the door from this distance. A boy is leaving Blue, walking the same direction as Hansol—away from him—down the sidewalk. Brown hair, ill-fitting jeans and a red polo shirt with a white collar and thick navy stripe across the chest. The polo is hiked up in the back, draped over what can only be a butt with enough shape to want to make the shirt scrunch up like that. Golden skin on the arms that are carrying a brown bag with the Blue “B” logo on it. If Hansol isn’t crazy…

            He grins and puts his hands in his pockets, shoulders tucking up for a moment with some little flicker in his chest. He _must_ be crazy, but there’s also no other way. Part of it would make sense, right? One BooKwannie, seen at a baking supply store after watching a video about brownies, which, considering his comment and the nature of said brownies, he probably didn’t mean to watch in the first place. But what an insane coincidence that he lives _right here_.

            For a moment, Hansol nearly picks up the pace to jog past a red hand at a through street and catch up, but he doesn’t. He stops at the light, watching the boy walk away, stuttering at his own light the next block over before quickly walking through the intersection as a car waits to turn right. Hansol tilts his head and sighs. If they were meant to meet, the person who looked a lot like BooKwannie would have come out of the store and walked toward him instead. That’s how it is. It’ll all fall into place when and with whom it’s supposed to.

            Josh probably wouldn’t like to hear that. But that’s how it’s been for over a year.

            He gets a sudden craving for a smoke, but he doesn’t keep joints on him when he goes out. It’s okay—once he steps through the threshold of Blue, everything will get way better.

            He does speed up a little, anticipation for the monochromatic wonderland of the shop lighting that flicker again. He comes to the door, and through the partial tint of the glass he can already see Seokmin’s thousand-watt grin.

            He throws the door open and makes a grand entrance with a tiny jingle, splaying his arms out to the sides and breathing in the clean, slightly sweet smell that only exists in Blue. “It’s good to be back, Seok.”

            “What’s your goal for today?” Seokmin asks, leaning onto his elbows on the counter and putting his smile in the palm of his hand.

            The door closes behind Hansol as he holds up an invisible shopping list and examines it. “Well, I came in for five things.” He grins up at Seokmin. “Think I can make it?”

            “Absolutely not,” Seokmin replies with a chuckle.

            Hansol knows he’s definitely right. Whenever he comes here he always leaves with way more than he planned to. He puts his hands on his hips and nods, biting his lower lip. “I’m gonna try and keep it under a hundred today. What do you think?”

            Seokmin tilts his head side to side. “A reasonable goal, yet difficult for someone like you.”

            “Me trying not to throw my bank account at whipped cream and butter is like you trying not to smile.”

            It makes Seokmin smile more. “Then fail fantastically.”

            Hansol looks at him and gives him a solid nod. “Thanks, man. I’ll see you in half an hour.”

            Seokmin laughs at what on some days is not even an exaggeration as Hansol goes to pick up one of the wire baskets. He knows the shop like the back of his hand and takes a moment to envision it in his mind, but the problem usually ends up being that he stops in a lot of places that weren’t marked on the map for that day. He only _needs_ white flour, brown sugar, salted butter, orange extract, and heavy cream. And he actually doesn’t even really need the heavy cream, but he’s not leaving without another carton. Five items to pick up, and he’ll probably walk up to the counter with at least twice that.

            He smiles to himself and makes his way to the flour aisle. He knows a few of the colors by heart: white, wheat, and almond—the ones he keeps the most of in his pantry. He goes straight to cobalt and his heart almost stops when he thinks for a moment from the side that the space is empty, but there’s one lone bag left. He brings a hand to his chest and closes his eyes, sighing in relief. He takes the bag and is about to head over to the refrigerated section to put the heavy cream in the bottom of the basket first (see, he’s already preparing for the usual Tetris game of strategically stuffing his basket to the brim), but he notices a pretty hyacinth blue bag and has a sensory memory of the flavor—noodles in cold soybean broth with thin spears of watermelon, tomato, and cucumber. _Buckwheat_. Kudos to Mr. Lee for matching the color to Hansol’s cannabis-induced taste hallucination. He grabs the package of buckwheat flour and leaves the aisle before he can rack up any more damage points to his wallet than necessary by flour species alone.

            The heavy cream is in a cornflower blue carton, and the brown sugar—as well as the coconut sugar he decided to get too—are in the shade of a Tiffany box. Two chunks of ginger root clunk into the bottom of the basket, unfortunately blueless. A new tin of matcha powder with an electric blue label goes sideways next to the cream, and two small Mason jars with blue ribbons—whole nutmeg and lavender sprigs—sit adjacent the flour bags. That’s nine already, and Hansol’s almost hit his double limit, and who knows how much this adds up to as far as his debit card goes. But he’s still missing his extract for his next video.

            He goes to the back right corner of the store and kneels down. Dropper bottles of vanilla, licorice, butterscotch, cherry, _so many_ flavors of extracts sit in neat, shiny rows of midnight glass on the shelves. His eyes land immediately on one labeled _Blood Orange_ , and he draws in a quiet breath. Totally perfect for the biscuit recipe, and it sounds way cooler.

            For a brief second, he sees the tan arms, the red and navy polo shirt and the brown hair in his mind, walking away while he watched him go. This doesn’t make the first time.

            He shakes his head and puts the bottle into his basket, pushing the brown sugar to the side a little. He’s about to stand up when he sees anise extract, and what the heck—he’ll add that too. It’ll make a great addition to cookies, or if he ever ventures into trying to make ice cream again after that mess the first time. Chocolate anise ice cream, maybe with walnuts and espresso powder dusted on top, would be perfect for a midnight high while watching a sad romance movie—something like _A Walk to Remember_ or _Now Is Good._ And then he sees basil extract (lemon basil crème brûlée? _Stellar_ ) and he may as well get the almond extract too anyway since it’s good for plenty more besides English biscuits. He forces himself to start standing again, knowing this is already way more than what he should be picking up today, but he almost falls over as he instinctively grabs one more bottle—cassis, because he wants to make black currant and elderflower _kohakuto_ at some point in his life, like next week maybe. Then he _really_ forces himself to get up this time and walks his way over to the front counter.

            Seokmin awaits, grinning, preparing his fingertips for the marathon they’re about to run over the touchscreen. “A spectacular failure, I’d say.”

            Hansol hoists his massive basket of random things up onto the counter for Seokmin to shake his head at. “If THvC wasn’t so the way he is, I’d do a baking supply haul video,” Hansol says, sounding disappointed in himself.

            Seokmin laughs. “Will that be all for you today then, ordinary HVC?”

            Hansol sighs like he worked out. “I think so— _no wait._ ” His features get big, even his nostrils, and he snaps his fingers and runs back to the fridge section. He flings open a door and grabs a box of salted butter sticks and runs back to the counter, placing it gingerly on top of all his other ingredients like the final icing rose on the peak of a wedding cake. “Yes.”

            Seokmin looks with some kind of _This guy’s insane_ expression at the basket. “Five items, coming up.” Hansol laughs, and Seokmin starts pulling out packages. “Plans for these?” He takes out the flour bags, the sugar, the matcha tin and heavy cream.

            Hansol shrugs. “Crème brûlée, ice cream, pancakes. Same old.”

            Seokmin lifts out the jar of lavender sprigs and raises an eyebrow.

            “You know I love lavender, Seok,” Hansol says like it should be common knowledge by now.

            Seokmin chuckles and inputs the item codes with skilled ease, hardly looking at the screen as he types with one hand and pulls Hansol’s stuff with the other. “If I didn’t know any better, I might think your five items were just these extract bottles.” They clink together when he pulls them out two and three at a time.

            Hansol smiles sheepishly. “A little carried away, eh?”

            Seokmin shrugs. “Dad will be happy to hear his favorite customer came by the shop today.”

            Hansol does an inner fist pump at the fact that he’s the favorite at both of his favorite shops. Then he frowns. “I’ve never met your dad?”

            “But he looks at all the transactions, and on paper, he loves you,” Seokmin says. As Hansol nearly blushes over his baking obsession and the ridiculous amount of money he spends on it, Seokmin inputs the final item. “And apparently you _really_ needed salted butter.”

            Hansol laughs again. “Ah, I’m making these English-style biscuits for my next video soon, which you should check out.” Seokmin smiles at him. “And I thought maybe salted butter would add a nice contrast with the blood orange extract,” Hansol says, motioning at the dropper, “and whatever sweet thing I’m gonna eat them with.”

            “So these are _special_ biscuits?” Seokmin asks, bringing out two brown bags from the counter.

            Hansol nods. “Oh yeah. They’re gonna be _uh_ -mazing. Maybe I’ll do half the butter unsalted, half salted.” Seokmin nods like whatever Hansol says is best. And then for some reason Hansol asks, “By the way, was that boy salty?”

            Seokmin lowers one of the Mason jars into a brown bag more slowly, looking confused. “Uhh—”

            “The one that was just in here,” Hansol says, hooking a thumb at the door. “Red and navy shirt?”

            It dawns on Seokmin’s face. “ _Ohh_ , that boy.”

            “Do you know him?” Hansol asks.

            Seokmin sticks out his lower lip and shakes his head. “Haven’t seen him before. He was kinda cute though, huh?”

            Hansol looks at the door as if the boy would be standing there outside, unaware he was being looked at. “Kind of biscuity for a human.”

            Seokmin nods. “That’s a good word for it.”

            Hansol looks back at him and pulls the first brown bag toward him. “Right? Was he like, agitated or anything?”

            Seokmin laughs once. “Uh, no? A little salty over the price of his items though, so I see what you mean.”

            Hansol nods. “Gotcha, gotcha.” He hugs his bag closer. “But nothing, like, stuck out? About him? Temper, or? Social justice warrior kind of deal?”

            Seokmin looks at him like he’s wondering what’s going on inside his head. “Not that I saw. He was cute, seemed nice enough. A little shy maybe—or, a lot shy. Awkward.” He pushes Hansol’s second bag toward him.

            Hansol blinks. Shy? The comment didn’t seem like that. Well, if there’s anyone who knows about being different online than in person, it’s Hansol. “Oh. Interesting.” He takes a quick breath and says, “Well, I’m happy to pay your dad’s high prices because this is quality stuff I can’t get anywhere else.” He grins and pushes his bags to the side.

            “Well, not everyone is determined to become the next Gordon Ramsay Baker Version like you.”

            Hansol snorts. “Do you think he only swears for the cameras or it’s the real deal?”

            Seokmin raises an eyebrow. “I don’t know, why don’t you ask THvC?”

            Hansol eyes him. “Touché.”

            Seokmin laughs and leans his palms on the counter edge. “Do you want to know how much it’s costing today?”

            Hansol grimaces like he forgot about that part. He takes his card out of the back of his phone and covers his eyes with one hand, sliding the card across the counter with the other. “Spare me.”

            Seokmin laughs again and swipes the money away, turning the screen toward Hansol.

            Hansol takes his card back and shoves it in his phone like it’s hot coal, melodramatically looking at the screen with only one eye open as he signs. He sighs hard and turns the screen back around. “Rest in peace.”

            “It was a pleasure, as always,” Seokmin says with a little bow and his classic smile.

            “And thank you, as always.” Hansol takes one bag in each arm and heads for the door. “I’ll see you around, Seok. And tell Jeonghan I said hi!” He tries to wave, but his bag is too heavy, and he just laughs.

            Seokmin does too. “If he saw even one of your videos he would make it his personal mission to walk to your apartment, dump your stash out the window, then give you a firm scolding.”

            Hansol pauses to shake his head at his friend. “Seokmin, your boyfriend’s a helicopter parent.”

            Seokmin laughs and looks down. “He’s something anyway.”

            Hansol tilts his head back in exasperation. “ _Ugh_ , Seok, I know this is the first male human you’ve been interested in like this but you two have been doing your thing for like three months. You’re dating. And bisexual. Hate to break it to you.”

            Seokmin just hums. “I’ll let you know if we get anything cool in, yeah?”

            Hansol backs into the door to open it, making sure Seokmin hears his sigh of _extra_ exasperation. “All right. Episode forty-three—don’t forget. Have Han check it out.”

            Seokmin shoos him out of his shop.

            Hansol turns out into the sunlight with his bags. He takes a deep draw of LA air, not quite the kind of smoke-slash-smog he prefers to breathe in, but it’ll have to do until he gets home. Luckily, he lives only about a mile from here, above a Chinese restaurant where one of his friends also works for his parents. (Jun lives in the apartment above his on the third floor, and he is one of the single loudest people Hansol has ever known, but he makes the best orange chicken he’s ever eaten in his life—it’s one of his go-to post-smoke munchies. He gets stuff for free a lot—Jun is always bringing him extra white rice, leftover vegetables and noodles, and a Sprite. And sometimes a Corona, which nobody needs to know about, and which Hansol once in a while trades for a joint when Jun’s feeling rebellious, which the Wens _definitely_ don’t need to know about. And on Fridays, dim sum gets handmade in advance, and if it doesn’t all sell, they have a feast during a marathon of _House_ or _Bojack Horseman_. Good times.) Still, it’s getting hot out this close to summer, and he’ll have to hustle lest his all-important butter melt.

            He heads down the sidewalk in the direction that the boy went earlier. He looks up, a little more alert, but then tells himself he’s being ridiculous. Timing will have it if timing will have it. Trust the flow.

            He sighs to give himself contentment, and he takes his bags of baking goods through mid-city LA.


	9. Biscuit

The twenty-three-dollar brownies were a hit. At the party three days ago, Seungcheol came with a box full of “mystery spherical sweet things” as he said, which were an assortment of chocolate-dipped cherries, truffles, Lindt and Ferrero Rocher, chocolate caramels, bourbon balls, and others, all unwrapped and placed in mini muffin papers for random choosing. A few of Soonyoung’s friends brought cookies or s’mores bars or ice cream, and Seungkwan brought his brownies. He would have kicked Soonyoung’s yoga butt if he had picked up anything but his or Seungcheol’s desserts first, but he did, and Seungkwan was proud of the scrunchy-eyed, round-cheeked look on Soonyoung’s face when he took a bite of what Seungkwan would call the best brownies he’s ever made. Soonyoung ate two of the biggest ones, and everyone else finished off the pan within twenty minutes. Seungcheol even stuck his in the microwave and put ice cream on top, which Seungkwan wished he’d thought of by the time he’d already eaten way too many sweets.

            He actually took home a couple of the leftover things from the party, because by the time it was over and everyone had left but the three of them, Soonyoung was complaining of a tummy ache and Seungcheol was behind him, arms wrapped around his torso and kissing his cheek “for comfort,” and Soonyoung insisted Seungkwan take home some extra cookies and candy. Seungkwan reluctantly did, and he’s been finishing them off since then. Now, as he’s studying his resilience skill set for his Positive Psychology final, he pops the last leftover truffle in his mouth and scrolls through PowerPoint slides.

            “Self-Regulation,” he says aloud through a chocolate mouth to the wall behind his desk. He’s always encoded information best when he acts like he’s teaching it to someone, even if nobody is there to listen. Proven fact, actually. “Changing your thoughts, emotions, behaviors, and physiology in favor of a desired outcome.” He swallows and says, “For example, emotional control and cognitive restructuring to prevent the urge to abuse substances. Or how Soonyoung yogas himself into total brick-wall zen.” He snorts and goes to the next skill. “Connection: the ability to maintain strong and trusting relationships. Like those with family, friends, coworkers, and health professionals. Like Soonyoung and Seungcheol. Like me and air molecules.”

            He sighs and looks at the place where his last candies were a moment ago. Dang. He’s about to move on to Strengths of Character when his phone goes off in a flurry of dings—texting style that can only be his best friend.

            _kwonsoon: kwan_

_kwonsoon: check this out okay_

_kwonsoon: i know you’re studying_

_kwonsoon: but just watch this okay_

_kwonsoon: i ask a mere ten minutes of your time_

_kwonsoon: and DONT turn it off right away this is important dO IT FOR ME_

_kwonsoon: text me when ur done_

_kwonsoon: [sparkles emoji]_

_kwonsoon: [link]_

            Seungkwan rolls his eyes and picks up his phone to open the texts when one more comes through.

            _kwonsoon: actually, go to it on your computer NO COMPLAINING JUST OPEN A NEW TAB AND DO IT_

Seungkwan frowns at his screen, swipes open the text, and puts his passcode in. When the conversation opens, his eyes land immediately on a YouTube thumbnail that appeared with the link Soonyoung sent him.

            Who else could it have possibly been.

 

**Baking With Hansol Ep. 43 | English Shortbread Biscuits**

 

            Seungkwan comes this close to texting Soonyoung back that he is not watching that video and there’s nothing Soonyoung’s Hollywood romanticist mind can do to make him. But in reality, that would just earn him either A) another major storm of texts screeching at him with the inevitable final text of _So just watch it k thx [kiss emoji]_ , or B) a call with the verbal version of those texts, a FaceTime if Soonyoung is really feeling adding in the visual. And he can’t just not watch it, or he’ll hear from Soonyoung in around fifteen minutes about how he should be texting him his thoughts by now. He really only has one option. This better just be Soonyoung’s to-be-failed attempt at getting him to fall madly in love with YouTube Boy by some via-screen sort of mere exposure effect and _not_ something that’ll take up the rest of his study time tonight.

            He sighs and drags a hand down his cheek before opening a new tab in Chrome. He pulls up YouTube and is slightly disgusted when he finds that he doesn’t even need to search—after watching the brownie video, the site is recommending him THvC’s latest 21k and counting hit, posted four hours ago. Just the thumbnail that he can actually see now is enough to make Seungkwan want to forgo this video and just deal with Soonyoung’s annoyances. Hansol is holding a shortbread-type cookie in two fingers, the others splayed exaggeratedly, and he’s turned to the side to make wide eyes at the thing, which is _so_ YouTube of him. But the worst part is that dangling from the side of his lips is one small blunt, the tip trailing needle-thin smoke into the air.

            Soonyoung really, _really_ better not be up to anything.

            Seungkwan sighs again, clicks into the video, and an ad plays for some insurance company. After the five-second skip, the video opens onto the table where Hansol sits, but no Hansol. Seungkwan has half a second to wonder what kind of mind tricks Soonyoung is trying to play with him when Hansol walks into the frame looking fresh out of bed in mid-afternoon lighting—white t-shirt and grey sweatpants. He sits down at his table and leans into the camera like it’s a mirror, messing with his highlighted hair that’s already a complete mess, and making a face. He produces a mustard-colored beanie with SET POINT in red block letters from god knows where under his table and tucks it onto his head, leaving a bit of his wavy butterscotch bangs out in the front.

            Fifteen seconds in and Seungkwan could actually cremate himself. What an act. Sure, Hansol looks good with bed head and sweats work great on him and he honestly probably does just wake up like that with perfect skin and whatever, but what a _show_. He had to actually make the effort to get a beanie ready, turn the camera on, then walk away and walk back into the frame and put on this little performance as if people will actually think he just— _Oh, why don’t I go make a video with my perfectly prepared setup and biscuits now that I’ve had my afternoon nap?_ Freaking ridiculous.

            “What up everybody, how you guys doing? It’s THvC back at you with another,” fingers wiggling under his chin, head tilt, charming smile, “Baking With Hansol. Sorry about my hair today, guys. I seriously need to get it cut. I don’t know—I just hate barbers? They’ve got some fucking agenda, man.”

            All Seungkwan can wonder is why. Why did Soonyoung send this. Why is he wasting precious study time watching Hansol talk dirt on barbers because he’s too YouTube cool for a haircut. There better be a _darn_ good reason why Soonyoung sent this, and it better not be “because he’s hot and you should jump him”.

            He puts his chin in his palm and slumps forward onto his desk to keep watching.

            “Anyway, so today I’ve got a new recipe up here for y’all.” He reaches down where he got the brownies from last time and brings up a white plate with English biscuits like the one in the thumbnail, ringed around a label-less squeeze bottle of what looks to be honey. “I’ll be honest with you guys,” he says, setting the plate down on his table. “These took a couple tries to get right. Notice how they’re a weird color? You should have seen the first batch—practically fucking brown from what I put into them. What a waste. At least these look like actual biscuits.” He picks one up and holds it toward the camera, palm behind for focus. “Nice, right?”

            Seungkwan sighs for a third time. The novelty of Hansol’s visuals from the brownie video has worn off, and while he’s admittedly still very easy on the eyes, Seungkwan finds this boring and shallow. How can people watch forty-three of basically the same video?

            He sits there while Hansol describes the horror that he baked into the shortbread, the ungodly amount of butter (he seems quite proud of his use of both salted and unsalted—big whoop) and the approximate concentration of THC that should be in each cookie. It’s all the same as last time, just with different ingredients and different numbers. Seungkwan figures that if he were someone who was actually going to eat these things—aka, a complete fool—then the videos might be interesting, even slightly informative. But he’s not a complete fool. Except for the fact that he’s spending more time of his life watching this video solely for the sake of his best friend’s wishes.

            It briefly enters his thoughts that he wonders if Hansol is okay, if _things_ are okay, with the amount of chemicals he’s choosing to put into his body on a daily basis to take his mind somewhere other than here. It passes.

            “I’ve also got some honey,” Hansol says. “No, not the special honey I made in episode twelve.” He laughs like that’s just _so_ clever. “And two kinds of jelly, too.” He reaches down and brings up two jars, purple and orange. “Grape, the classic, and get this— _mango_. Fucking riot, right?” _Just utter chaos_ , Seungkwan thinks sarcastically. “Someday I’ll make special jelly maybe. Oh, and just because it’s one PM and I missed my morning smoke.” He lifts up the blunt that Seungkwan saw in the thumbnail and smiles without teeth like he’s the absolute most chill and laid back person in the whole world. “I’m just gonna hit this baby too. Biscuits, jam, and a joint sounds like breakfast to me.”

            Seungkwan watches him reach into the pocket of his sweats and pull out a silver lighter. He flicks the lid open with his thumb, small metallic _chink_ clear with the high-quality microphone setup he has. With another quick flick, the flame ignites, and Hansol brings it to the end of the joint. Seungkwan sees it sizzle to life, and Hansol takes a pull on it while he pockets his lighter, his jaw evident and his eyes closing in a level of bliss that makes Seungkwan disappointed in the state of things.

            “God,” Hansol says, and smoke falls from his mouth. “Still on that debate, you guys. Cake or weed? Life’s most difficult choice.”

            It bothers Seungkwan that he knows which one Soonyoung would choose.

            Then Hansol hums like he thought of something and says, “You know what—before I get started, let’s do a quick thumbnail, eh?” Seungkwan watches it set up—Hansol sticks the joint in the side of his mouth, picks the biscuit back up and holds it in thumb and forefinger and splays the others, turns to the side, blah blah. The moment he hits his pose, there’s a white flash on the screen and the sound of a camera shutter. Then Hansol laughs at himself and takes another hit.

            Seungkwan will soon lose track of his eye roll count.

            “When I edit that I’ll add in a freeze frame and a picture sound and maybe a classic flash of white, you know?” Hansol says. “I don’t know why I’m telling you since this’ll be edited out. Or maybe it won’t. Anyway—” He points at his biscuit with his blunt. “Weed biscuits. Let’s test it out.” Seungkwan is just _overjoyed_ at the prospects of this experience, but when Hansol goes for a bite, he pauses, eyebrows casually raising, and leans toward the camera a little. “By the way, I got the idea for these from a comment on my last video.”

            Before Seungkwan’s stomach has a moment to let him know something’s alarming about that statement, a white text box fades into existence on the screen. It’s his comment, loud and clear, staring at him from the bottom right corner. His huge paragraph is there, his profile picture is there, his username is there. All of it—a screenshot straight from the comments section.

            Seungkwan regrets eating all that chocolate, because something in his stomach is flittering around like a maniac and he feels suddenly nauseous. For once, Soonyoung actually had a good reason. But what are the odds? Seungcheol was apparently right when he said there was a good chance Hansol would see the comment, and the length probably did have something to do with it. What kind of fool was Seungkwan to send that comment through anyway? And why the _heck_ would Hansol think it’s okay to put it in the video?

            Hansol laughs as the comment sits there on the screen for Seungkwan and anyone else watching to view and read. “Something like ‘unnatural and bad for your body’ and ‘illegal for a good reason’ and whatnot.” He shrugs. “Hey, there’s a lot of research on it, and I’ve read a ton. I’m just going with what I feel right now, and I am fuh- _heel_ ing a weed biscuit.” He chuckles again. “Scathing review though, eh?”

            Seungkwan’s cheeks redden. Soonyoung is probably jumping for joy at this, thinking it’s some kind of opportunity not to be missed. But Seungkwan is _livid._

            Hansol is still going. “Actually, it doesn’t mention any biscuits, but look at this guy’s profile pic.”

            The comment disappears but is replaced by a zoom-in on Seungkwan’s profile picture. It’s some random selfie he took, just the typical high-angle, chin tilted, peace sign whatever that he always does. But this amps everything up ten notches, and he can’t tell what’s coming through more—his insecurity or his unfathomable irritation. He wants to start texting Soonyoung right this second, but Hansol of course won’t shut up.

            “Now _that’s_ a biscuit.”

            Seungkwan’s insides slither around again. What is this. Honestly, what _is this?_

            The photo disappears, and Hansol looks into the camera with the biscuit now held between two fingers like a playing card, the blunt identical in the other hand. “So, BooKwannie with the cute username,” Hansol says. “If you’re watching this one…” He pauses and looks like he’s thinking of what to say. Seungkwan, burning on the inside, is expecting something like _Thanks for your help_ or _This one’s for you._ But instead, Hansol grins and says, “Hit me up.” And as Seungkwan begins his actual internal cremation, Hansol takes a bite of his biscuit and adds through a full mouth, “I’ll smoke you out.”

            Hansol laughs, and Seungkwan can see the shortbread in his mouth, and _who the hell does this guy think he is?_

            Seungkwan mashes down the space bar to pause the video and picks up his phone to answer Soonyoung.

_Seungkwan: are you freaking kidding me? are you FREAKING KIDDING ME?????_

            He presses play again. Hansol leans back in his chair, chemicals in both hands, and closes his eyes in that same bliss as before. “You guys—honestly, the secret to good shortbread is just not good green. It’s butter, plain and simple. There’s so much of that shit in these.” He chuckles and shakes his head, picking up his honey bottle. “By the way. A lot of people ask me how I stay skinny and don’t gain any weight from eating carbs and sugar and fat all the time,” he says, drizzling while he talks. He caps the honey and sets it down with a solid _whack_ and shoves the rest of the biscuit into his mouth. He makes an apologetic face and says with a shrug, “I just don’t. I eat whatever I feel like and never pack on the—”

            Google Chrome is closed in record time. That’s more than enough of this guy. This whole thing has Seungkwan seething. He’s angry and embarrassed—embarrassed in front of all, what is it… He remembers what Soonyoung said, the number that sets yet another tiny lunatic free inside his belly: almost _three hundred thousand people_. And of course Hansol can eat whatever he wants and still maintain an ideal body type and not gain weight, of _freaking_ course. Whatever. As if all of that wasn’t enough, the fact that Hansol just said it, just blurted Seungkwan out to everyone and said hit me up and then moved on like he did nothing wrong…what the hell? _What the actual hell?_

            His phone chimes.

_kwonsoon: I. KNOW._

_kwonsoon: IM HONESTLY IN UTTER SHOCK_

Then how does he think Seungkwan feels?

_Seungkwan: that makes two of us_

_kwonsoon: did you see the comments?_

Oh god. Seungkwan doesn’t even want to look anywhere near the comments on that video. He’d rather go lie on his bathroom floor and form a chrysalis of toilet paper and shame in hopes everything will be better once he tears his way back out into reality. But, always so lucky for him, Soonyoung is an amazing, attentive, eager friend, and already has receipts.

_kwonsoon: [photo]_

_kwonsoon: [photo]_

            The comments vary in a wide range from _who is this bookwannie guy_ to _I SAW HIS COMMETN ON THE LAST VID_ to _fucking dumbass ignorant people on there grind abt weed just shutup already and have a fucking smoke you’ll feel better._ Seungkwan wants to just delete his YouTube or at least change his username or something. But now he’s even angrier, and he has some _business_ to attend to.

_kwonsoon: ur gonna be famous_

_kwonsoon: THvC just atted you irl_

_kwonsoon: he said to hit him up WHICH YOU SHOULD_

_kwonsoon: AND ONE HIT WONT KILL YOU I CAN VOUCH FOR IT_

_kwonsoon: i hear the bells ringing already_

            Seungkwan frowns. Sometimes Soonyoung can be a real freaking airhead. He takes care of Seungkwan and loves him, but sometimes he forgets that life isn’t all rainbows and diamond belly button piercings for everyone else.

_Seungkwan: This isn’t a joke Soonyoung. That’s so many people that just saw my comment and my face. What am I supposed to do with this?_

            He sits there waiting as Soonyoung’s typing bubble dances for a while, going away and then coming back a few times. It literally could not irk him any more when Soonyoung finally sends his message and it just reads

_kwonsoon: idk_

Seungkwan is about to start using caps lock since Soonyoung clearly can’t—

_kwonsoon: idk maybe you should just ignore it?_

Seungkwan pulls in a fiery breath through his nose. He grabs his phone hard in both hands and leans over it.

_Seungkwan: How uncharacteristic of you, Soonyoung. Don’t try to reverse psychology me. You’re being no help here and I’m kind of annoyed at it_

            He feels bad the moment he hits send. Ugh.

_kwonsoon: :( you’re right I’m sorry_

_kwonsoon: I’m just excited Kwannie_

_kwonsoon: he’s perfect!! he’s dumb but he’s perfect! he’s type B and laid back and hot and it’s almost the end of the year. go out with a one night bang. i just want one good thing for you and your lack of relationships :/_

            Seungkwan sighs and puts his head in his hands for a moment. None of this is actually happening, right? This is all just…fake. Just a dream or a projection. He’ll be out of the chrysalis soon, and he’ll be there studying psychology and eating chocolate, and weed will be illegal and YouTube won’t exist and Soonyoung will have tact and the world really will be all rainbows and diamonds. Right?

            He opens his eyes when Soonyoung sends another message.

_kwonsoon: at least tell him off then_

            Seungkwan picks up his phone and looks at the typing bubble, waiting.

_kwonsoon: in a dm or something_

_kwonsoon: he has his social links right?_

_kwonsoon: at least give him a piece of Boo SassKwan if he can’t have a piece of Fine Ass Kwan_

            Seungkwan snorts and shakes his head, rubbing the smile off his face with his palm. At least Soonyoung calmed down. “Soonyoung, I’ll strangle you,” he says aloud, quietly.

_Seungkwan: I was planning on it. I have some business to attend to._

_kwonsoon: REALLY? YOULL MESSAGE HIM?_

            Aaand he’s back. Seungkwan deadpans at his wall.

_Seungkwan: ok I’m done_

_kwonsoon: GET A MOVE ON_

_Seungkwan: I hate this_

            _kwonsoon: I LOVE YOU, LOVELY [sparkling heart emoji]_

_kwonsoon: CHEOL SAYS GOOD LUCK_

_Seungkwan: only because you gave no context and made him wish me_

_Seungkwan: you know what_

_Seungkwan: never mind_

_Seungkwan: good freaking bye_

_kwonsoon: MWAH_

            Seungkwan throws his phone onto his bed.

            Should he message this guy personally? If anything, he should at least let him know what a dick move that was and get an apology. At best, he could educate Hansol on some basic human rights as well as some basic human chemical physiology. If it’s a personal message, it should be okay, right? Unless Hansol decides to show his DMs to his followers, too. Seungkwan honestly wouldn’t be surprised.

            _Should_ he just ignore it? Life would probably be easier if he did. But it’s so not cool for Hansol to think that’s okay, whether he’s high or not. He shouldn’t be allowed to expose somebody’s profile to everyone like that. But it’s Seungkwan’s fault for posting the comment in the first place, isn’t it?

            He frowns at nothing again. No—that’s stupid, self-defeating logic. Yes, comments are public property, but there’s a _difference_ when the person making the video actually calls you out. In the sea of hundreds of comments under the video, one doesn’t matter. But in the stark isolation of being the only comment pulled up out of that pool and put on the screen to be mentioned by the creator, photo and username and all…

            _That’s just not right_ , Seungkwan thinks. _And the moon is_ freaking _real._

            He reaches for his phone and then remembers he threw it. He slumps and gets up from his chair to walk over and flop himself onto his bed, grabbing his phone. In YouTube, he goes to the THvC channel and finds the about tab. The only social media link is for Instagram, so he clicks on it, and his phone switches him over.

            The profile that pulls up doesn’t belong to THvC. Well, it _does_ , but it’s not right at all. The bio for user thchwesol is just _Hansol Chwe, NYC -- > LA _and the slice of cake emoji. The profile picture is him standing in the sun above a Hollywood star with his arms out. As Seungkwan scrolls down, the posts consist of photos of the city—long shots of the Santa Monica Pier, beach photos at day and night, the reaching up of skyscrapers with clouds in the windows, the brass metalwork on the black door of some shop called Lost Soul, blurred crowds of people and crows with quarters in their beaks, graffiti and empty alleyways; plus multiple selfies that are either poorly angled and too close or perfectly flattering to show off a smile that’s a lot different from the ones in the videos; and multiple shots of the same guy who’s tagged as joshuahong951230, and Seungkwan remembers the name from the first video— _my buddy Josh_ —and he thinks that Joshua looks like a good proper boy who’s had the same lovely demure girlfriend since freshman year, which is strange considering he’s Hansol aka THvC’s friend. But even with all of that, still at least forty percent of the 400+ posts are photos of baked goods: overheads of colorful macarons, cross section slices into multilayered cakes, steam rising from star-shaped vents in fresh pies, rolled crepes filled with cream and fruit and tiny mint leaves and dusted with powdered sugar, brownies _without_ little whitish things in them but with M&Ms instead. There’s even a few videos—the aesthetic slow-motion mixing of food coloring into whipped cream, the sound of bubbling sugar water and agar, the piping of a rose made of baby pink buttercream icing. He comes across the full photo from the profile picture and clicks into it. The star Hansol stands over on the Walk of Fame is blank, and still he has his arms out, face turned toward the sun, grinning widely. Black jeans destroyed enough that Seungkwan can see an entire knee on one side fit him too well, and his white T-shirt has a daisy stitched on the pocket. Is this really the same person?

            Seungkwan scrolls back up and looks at the message button. Should he? He _should_ , but should he? Maybe it really would be better if he just ignored everything, swallowed the embarrassment and let it all just move on. Soonyoung will get over it eventually, and the video will hopefully be forgotten.

            And then he remembers how his comment faded onto the screen, that momentary warning feeling in his gut like he was going to throw up, the way Hansol laughed like maybe he thought it was just the silliest little thing. _Hit me up. I’ll smoke you out._

            Pretty cakes and a handsome face don’t make up for it.

            He takes a deep breath and sighs it out, and he clicks the button to message.


	10. Hurt More

“This is probably the most instructional I’ve gotten in a while, eh?” Hansol laughs as he mixes THC extract and purple food coloring into white cream cheese icing with a knife. “Trick your family into thinking you made a nice normal cake because it’s not some weird-ass color and surprise—the pretty purple icing is what gets you high.” He slumps his shoulders and then leans into the camera. “You guys have no clue the lengths I had to go to get the pure form of this shit. And it was a pretty penny too, let me tell you. Wonwoo—” He cuts off and sighs at himself. He’s been making a lot of mistakes this round of filming, which is unusual for him. The editing will be fun. “My… The place I go to is strict on the tincture kind of stuff.” He shrugs. “Anything for some good cream cheese highcing, I guess.” His phone chimes up on the table off camera and he reaches for it with his free hand.

            His throat feels thicker all of a sudden. Username _seungkwan_boos_ has sent him a message on Instagram. It’s not the same username, but it’s obvious enough. What the…

            At once, he thinks of the last video—the one he posted yesterday evening. What he did in that video. How he put the comment up in that video. How he zoomed in on the photo in that video. How he called the boy a biscuit. To everyone. Jesus…what was he thinking? Was he that high when he edited, or just that _dense_?

            BooKwannie just messaged him. Personally. On his Instagram. He looked at his Instagram. He _found_ his Instagram. He put in _effort_. And messaged him.

            He really wishes he’d smoked before this.

            “Uh,” he says, and then knows he has to snap out of it, and that he’ll cut that out later. _You’re still THvC right now. Act like it_. He puts on his chill smile. “Guys.” He turns his phone screen toward the camera lens. “Million bucks this is Biscuit.” He laughs, but it feels funny, and he turns his phone back around and shoves it in his pocket. “That’s all I’ll give you guys for now. Await further news. Who knows? Maybe a Boyfriend Tries My Weed Lollipops video will be on your feed soon.”

            What? He almost frowns at himself, but he’s on camera. More than a year of making videos has him a good actor. When did it get like this anyway? What is he _doing_?

            He laughs again and licks his knife. “I’ll answer that in a bit. I can imagine what it says, or at least the thousand-degree tone of a pressed private school student.” He swallows because _Jesus_ —THvC really takes over. “Ah—I don’t actually know if he’s from a private school. Just a calculated guess.”

            If he doesn’t stop blabbing he’ll just keep digging, all the way until he hits six feet. Things are getting weird and he’s not even high. God, he wishes he was high. Everything would be easier.

            The phone in his pocket is a heavy, persistent weight. BooKwannie. seungkwan_boos.

            _Seungkwan. Your name is Boo Seungkwan._

            He clears his throat. Editing will be _so_ fun. “Anyway. Let’s get to this cake, shall we?”

 

He finishes the video with a playout of _Ups & Downs_ by Kyle, and multiple further mistakes, which are going to make editing an absolute nightmare. But he’s done, and he has all but one small slice of a divine looking mini cake with purple icing in pulled-dot style (he’ll time lapse the actual icing of the cake for the final cut). The high is light, nothing he couldn’t get from a couple hits off a weaker-potency smoke. Still, he’s torn by it.

            The editing is going to wait no matter what, because there’s something else he has to do first. One half of him wants to go into the message with the high, maybe even amp it up a little bit, because everything is just better when he’s a little faded. But the other half of him wants to be sober to read the message, in case his wacked out mind decides to do or say something stupid—or, stupider than he’s already done. He can’t be caps-locking conspiracy theories at the cute and probably very angry boy from the comments section at eleven am. Which one? Take the easy way out and have Josh be scolding him in the distance? Or do the right thing, which is always so much harder, and which makes him scared.

            The camera is off, the cake is in the fridge and he doesn’t even feel like ever eating it. The option he should choose is going to hurt more. He _knows_ what he should do. He should. For once, he will.

            He goes to his couch and sits down to wait.

 

Twenty minutes later, the high is gone. The idea of opening up Instagram is making his heart beat weird—the intermittent empty feeling of skipped pulses in palpitation. Anxiety. Deleting the video would be useless. What an idiot.

            If he doesn’t take his phone out now, he never will.

            He reaches into his pocket and drags out his phone. His own face smiles back at him on his lock screen—one eye squinted shut as Joshua’s tongue comes millimeters from licking his cheek. His own stupid face. He swipes the message open and Instagram loads the new conversation.

 

**seungkwan_boos**

_I’ll start by saying that I don’t appreciate what you did in your last video. I get that it’s a public comment, but calling me out like that is unfair and kind of a dick thing to do. You just showed me to all of your followers, flat out, and it’s not even about the comment because I believe fully in everything I said. It’s about the fact that you didn’t even bother to blur out my photo or my name. THAT stuff is private property—MY property. And you even zoomed in. You had no right to blatantly throw me out to everyone who watches you whether you think I’m “a biscuit” or not._

_I shouldn’t have to apologize for voicing my opinion, and you shouldn’t have to apologize for what you do either, but I think I deserve an apology for that one thing._

_That said, there’s one more thing I’m going to mention, because I’m really wondering about you, Hansol. Every day, multiple times a day I’m sure, you’re ingesting this stuff or smoking it or whatever. Allow me to provide an analogy. SSRIs (selective serotonin reuptake inhibitors) are a class of medications used to treat depression and anxiety disorders. Without spewing about the political and social correctness of respecting mental illness and all, I’ll get straight to saying that I believe in therapeutic treatment, not pharmaceutical treatment. What SSRIs do is basically bind to the sending side of a neuron where the neurotransmitter serotonin gets released. Usually, during a natural release of serotonin in the brain, the excess gets sucked back into that sending side (reuptake). But SSRIs bind into those areas and prevent reuptake, leaving more serotonin available for the brain to use (to slot into receptor sites on the next neuron). The human body tends toward chemical equilibrium—we’re only SUPPOSED to have a certain level of serotonin. So what happens with these drugs is that over a long period of time of taking them, the body learns to adapt towards its natural equilibrium and produces LESS SEROTONIN NATURALLY. And then, if you were to stop taking the SSRI, the body REMAINS at a lower level of serotonin because it had stopped producing as much, leaving you in a possibly worse condition than you previously were—at a deficient serotonin level. Does this make sense?_

_THC affects multiple neurotransmitters, including dopamine—hence the nickname. Long story short, if you understood what I said, your use of marijuana is affecting your body’s natural state now and will change it in the long term should you ever stop using, which I really hope you do. The sooner the better._

_I’m not going to go into any lengthy detail about the other effects of THC abuse, because I know you’ve done your research and because it would take me all day. I feel like you’re an aware person—sober, at least. But all of that aside, I’m just wondering about things. Every single day, multiple times a day. What are you trying to get away from?_

_I expect this message not to be shown to your followers. And I expect an apology. Just one “I’m sorry” and things are fine on my end. Take care of yourself, Hansol._

 

            He reads it twice, three times. He reads the end of it so many times he loses count.

            He messed up _bad_. He should have recognized all of that as he was doing it, but he was too foolish and self-serving and just posted that video with all of what was just described. What _Seungkwan_ just described. Seungkwan, a real actual live person with a life and friends and a psyche and feelings. Seungkwan who is obviously very smart, and who obviously cares about himself and about people.

            _Take care of yourself, Hansol._

Hansol draws in a deep breath and looks at his screen.

            And then a call comes in, and the photo is a reverse of his lock screen—this time, he’s near to licking Joshua while his friend is taking the selfie. He accepts the call.

            “Hey.”

            It’s like he can feel Joshua’s demeanor change immediately through the line in response to him. “Hey. You okay?”

            _I’m just wondering about things._

            “I think I need to…” he looks around at nothing, no answers, “grab a smoke. Can I call you back later?”

            Joshua pauses for a brief second, then says, “Hansol?”

            Hansol looks at the air. “Yeah?”

            “Snap out of it.”

            Shame shoots through Hansol’s chest, followed by something brighter. Determination. Things inside his head clear up. “Right.”

            “You told me to be real with you when you get like this, so snap out of it, Hansol Vernon Chwe. Whatever it is, you’re gonna be fine. It’ll work out, or you can fix it, or you can make it through. You’re _freaking HVC_. You got this.”

            Hansol sits up straighter. “Right. God, _right_.” He smacks a hand to his forehead. “Josh, I screwed something up big time.”

            “Then fix it, dude. You’re a whole grown ass man so you’ve gotta fix your problems. And don’t give me any _I’m only twenty_ because you know you’re like eighty in your soul, okay. Good thing is you’re a really self-effective grown ass man. So whatever this is…”

            Hansol stands up from his couch, phone to his ear. “I got it. Yes. Oh my god, I have to send some messages. Josh, we’ll talk in a bit okay?”

            “ _That’s_ my best friend,” Joshua says, and Hansol grins. “Do your thing. And don’t be weird with him, okay? You don’t wanna scare him away.”

            “Ri—wait, what?” Hansol looks around again but he’s still alone in his apartment. Are linguists psychics? “How did you—”

            “Text me?” Joshua asks.

            Hansol frowns to the side like it’s sending through his phone. He wasn’t anywhere near high enough just now to have told Josh anything without remembering it. He was just sitting here. Joshua does kind of always know everything though. He’s been getting more and more telepathic over the past year. Hansol will figure it out later.

            He nods. “Got you.”

            He hangs up the call and lets Instagram show up again. He immediately looks at the little photo at the top of his screen, though he doesn’t feel worthy to. But he looks, because this is a _person_ who deserves better. Boo Seungkwan, doing the same pose as in his YouTube photo, but this time he has blond hair—an amazing golden color that looks incredible on his skin—and there are two other boys behind him, though all Hansol can see is blue hair and black everything. He barely notices them anyway. Boo Seungkwan.

            For this video, he’ll blur out the username. Or he’ll just cut out the part of him showing his phone to the camera. Or he’ll just delete the footage entirely and redo the whole video with at least some hint of sober respect. His followers don’t need to know anything more about Boo Seungkwan on his time. If he could go back, he would make sure he never mentioned the comment or showed Seungkwan’s face at all, but it happened, and now he has this message.

            Time to be a grown ass man.

            He brings his thumbs to his keyboard and then realizes he has _no_ _idea_ how to be a grown ass man. He scoots back and sits on his couch again, bringing his knees to his chest and resting his chin on them, gazing at his screen. The little typing line in the text bar flashes at him, waiting for him to say something.

            _thchwesol: I’ll start by saying how sorry I_

            No. Backspace. That sounds mocking.

            _thchwesol: Yeah I was definitely an idiot for doing that and_

Not right either. God, what is he supposed to say? Do grown ass men know inherently how to talk to biscuits they’ve dishonored? Is there a way to get all the people knowledge to just appear inside him or does he have to become twenty-three like Josh first? Josh is the most grown man he knows, and he’d be knocking him upside the head right now for not having said anything yet.

            He types in a sentence, and it’s nothing perfect, but it’s something.

            Just before he hits send, his heart does an alarming flutter and he pauses, thumb over the key. This is what it was like more than a year ago, after that freshmen welcoming mixer where he met a junior who gave him his number and sang while he walked away. How long?

            He chews on his lip and looks at the message again, at the profile photo, at the send key. Josh would be proud of him, right? For saying anything at all. For responding when he’s terrified. There’s no telling if this will even amount to anything. If he could get a slap in the face through his DMs, that’s probably what he would be getting right now. That one line—that question near the end—feels a lot like one.

            But _how long_?

            “Snap out of it, Hansol Vernon Chwe,” he mutters to himself.

            Before he can think anymore, he takes his own step forward for the first time in over a year—hermit cracking open his door to peer at the sun and the world he knew before—and he presses send.


	11. Fake Boy

Soonyoung makes fun of him about the weather. Seungkwan talks about how much he loves the rain, how he wishes LA weren’t _quite_ so bright and sunny—or at least not so _dry_ and sunny. Soonyoung tells him he belongs in an old Taylor Swift song, or a teen romance novel by a flower crown girl. Seungkwan usually quips back that Soonyoung _is_ a flower crown girl.

            He pushes his earbuds in a little more with the pad of his finger, letting rain sounds drown out the muted chatter of the university library. Little rumbles of thunder here and there accompany his Counseling Psychology notes; the sounds of distant, singular cars passing by on a wet country road tell him to flip his Abnormal Psychology flashcards. He’s got an hour of studying down, and plans on another two. His first final is in two days, and he isn’t cramming—he’s better than that—but last-minute study has always helped his immediate long-term memory. Soonyoung might make fun of him for how seriously he takes his studies too, but he also tells Seungkwan he’s proud of him and says he wishes he had drive like that. Easy for Soonyoung to say. He has it all.

            Another car passes through the rain as he recalls the definition and application of Rational-Emotive Therapy, and he imagines the headlights illuminating dots out of the droplets, suspending them in the air momentarily, and—

            A notification disrupts the rain. He _told_ Soonyoung he’s studying for a few hours and not to bother him. He sighs and looks at his phone screen.

            His heart slithers up into his throat. That sunset icon of the Instagram app. He didn’t post anything recently, and he doesn’t have people’s notifications on. Does he want to look closer?

            He puts down his flash cards and gingerly plucks his phone from the table. No, of course. Of course. Did he not ask for this, not even two hours ago at home before his WiFi got finicky? What else was he supposed to expect from sending that message? Isn’t this what he wanted?

            _thchwesol sent a message_

You know what? Good. He _should_ have a message back. He deserves an apology and he asked for one, so this should be it. He’ll open it and see the little sorry, and he’ll get back to studying, and all of this will finally blow over and life will be back to…whatever it was before.

            So why does it take nerve to swipe open the freaking thing when this should be a moment of victory? He keys in his passcode and lets the message load up.

            _thchwesol: Seungkwan. Your name is Seungkwan. I’m sorry_

Seungkwan rolls his eyes. Whatever that’s supposed to be, he’s not going to mess with it. He got his apology—not a great one, but _I’m sorry_ is what he asked for, verbatim, so it’s good enough. He’s about to just swipe-close Instagram and get back to flash cards when

            _thchwesol: also please answer me. I don’t really know what else to say but I don’t want to leave it at that_

Seungkwan purses his lips. Great. Now what is he supposed to do? Honestly, life would just be so much easier if he just ignored this, left Hansol on read, and went back to studying. For some reason he actually feels like, if he did, Hansol would give it up and not bother him anymore. That would really be the best way to deal with things.

            Soonyoung makes fun of him for something else, too. He’s always telling Seungkwan how he has attitude, how he’s sassy and independent, but at the same time craves some kind of affection, and— _Here’s the kicker_ , Soonyoung always says—he’s a people pleaser. Soonyoung loves to point out that Seungkwan feels bad if he thinks he could be hurting someone’s feelings, and that he likes to make people feel included and heard, and to acknowledge both others’ presence and their opinions and emotions. _You’re the perfect counselor in training, Kwannie_. _You’re a giver._

            His best attribute, his greatest asset, and his biggest weakness.

            Ignoring it would be the best way to deal with things for _him_ , but maybe not for Hansol.

            He squeezes his eyes shut. There’s no way he’s actually going to click into that box and take the time. Study. Just forget it and _study._

            _I’m just wondering about things._

            Soonyoung’s voice again, in his head: _You’re like a cat, too._

_What’s that supposed to mean?_

_It means you’re curious, Kwan. You get into things. Not like I do, but…okay, maybe I’m the cat. You’re more like…a knight. Or like a troubleshooter. You love identifying problems and solving puzzles, just_ helping _people, and you expect nothing in return. You’re just a giver._

That’s the worst part. He _is_ curious; he can’t lie about that. And it’s not the pervasive, eager curiosity that Soonyoung and cats have but a subtle, determined will to have the knowledge. It’s what makes him love school; it’s what makes him want the job he wants. It’s what makes him wonder about things, about Hansol Chwe.

He’s actually going to do it. Why.

            He clicks into the box and types back

            _seungkwan_boos: Thank you for your apology_

His thumb hovers over the send key for just one more moment, giving himself one last chance to walk away. Not even that—to just _decide_ that this is done. Phone away, rain sound, no problems, easy life. And back where he started.

            He hates it every single time he asks himself what Soonyoung would do. It’s always something so vastly different from the most logical option of the bunch.

            He presses send.

            He hardly has a chance to begin putting his phone down before Hansol’s typing indicator pops up. Seungkwan sighs and leans back in his seat, holding his phone at the ready. Quickly, he clicks off his ringer so his rain doesn’t get interrupted anymore.

            _thchwesol:_ _you were right. you deserve one and I shouldn’t have done that_

Seungkwan tilts his head a little. That’s definitely true. At least Hansol is able to recognize that. It would be hard for him not to after the avalanche of words Seungkwan rained on him.

            _thchwesol: can we meet?_

Seungkwan’s heart tries slithering all the way out of his mouth this time. He gulps it back down, blinking at the message. He looks up once, glancing around as if anyone would be paying any attention to him. He looks back at his phone screen, and Hansol isn’t typing. He’s supposed to answer that now, isn’t he.

            But it’s honestly a ridiculous question. Seungkwan doesn’t have the time of day for this constantly-swearing weed-smoking dropout YouTuber. _I’m just wondering about thi—_ No, actually, that part of him can just shut up for once. Even just the fact that there’s still a “thc” at the beginning of Hansol’s handle irks him. Not that the Instagram profile Seungkwan spent too much time looking at before he sent his message is much like the YouTube channel at all. Just baked goods and photos of my buddy Josh and clouds and colorful beach umbrellas and building façades. And not even one swear word, Seungkwan thinks, or mention of that drug. But still—meeting up? It’s just a ridiculous suggestion.

            What’s even more ridiculous is that Seungkwan is even _actually_ entertaining the idea of saying yes.

            _seungkwan_boos: That’s a bold thing to ask._

Hansol must literally just be sitting there staring at his phone with how quickly he starts typing. Well…Seungkwan is too, but he’s _studying_. He’s studying.

            _thchwesol: I know. But my friend says I’m a bad texter and you deserve more than this apology_

Seungkwan scrunches his nose at it. Deserve more? Yeah, he deserves it all to be taken back so he doesn’t have to go through the social pain again, all alone in his bathroom chrysalis. Something tells him that’s not what Hansol meant though.

            _seungkwan_boos: What’s that supposed to mean?_

_thchwesol: oh_

_thchwesol: did that sound weird_

_thchwesol: I didn’t_

_thchwesol: I’m sorry, I didn’t like…idk. I meant like that I’m not good at this_

_thchwesol: I should shut up shouldnt I_

Seungkwan lifts an eyebrow.

_seungkwan_boos: probably_

_thchwesol: I’m sorry_

Okay, how many times is he going to say it? And where is this conversation even going? Seungkwan feels psych vocabulary slowly receding out of his working memory, low tide, encoding failure. Great.

            _thchwesol: you’re just kind of cute_

High tide. High tide _right_ into his chest—that weird hot feeling of nerves rushing in. _Why_ did he answer?

            _thchwesol: that’s all I meant by biscuit_

_thchwesol: Sorry if that was weird. again, I shouldn’t have done that. you’re really cute though_

Seungkwan chews on his lip and looks around again. He slouches down in his chair a little, concealing himself from himself.

            _seungkwan_boos: please save it_

Is that…what he really meant? Thunder in the distance; headlights in the rain.

            _thchwesol: I know I know_

_thchwesol: frick_

_thchwesol: I’m sorry. Really._

_thchwesol: god I’ve gotten so bad at this_

_thchwesol: hashtag anxiety_

_thchwesol: Really, I’m sorry Kwannie_

They all come in such rapid succession, messages popping into existence one by one, that Seungkwan nearly misses that last word. Is it his fault for making his YouTube username BooKwannie? Or is Hansol just…

            _thchwesol: things are weird for me sometimes. My friend Josh would be beating me up right now if he saw any of this. I’m surprised he hasn’t said anything yet about the video_

_thchwesol: wait THATS HOW HE KNWE ABOUT_

_thchwesol: god shut up hansol_

_thchwesol: sorry, I get kinda spacey I just_

_thchwesol: uGh_

Seungkwan doesn’t know what to think. Reading the messages as they come, it’s hard to even imagine the person who took the extra time to set up a beanie and walk away from the camera to walk back in frame again. It’s hard to imagine all the F-bombs, the apathy, the blunt in his lips. Seungkwan remembers the one photo—Hansol standing over a Hollywood star with his arms out, grinning in the sun. _That’s_ who this is. So where’s the other one?

            Fake thunder in the distance; fake headlights in the rain. Fake boy on camera.

            _thchwesol: please let me at least make it up to you. what I did was stupid and really not cool. Like you said, a dick move. let me try and explain myself_

There’s where it comes back to him. Seungkwan is well aware of what the explanation is. Curiosity is great, but knowledge is better—and about this, he already knows.

            _seungkwan_boos: I don’t need an explanation. You’ll tell me you were high and that’s your excuse, right?_

Is it harsh? Maybe. Is it the truth? Definitely.

            _thchwesol: ..well…_

_thchwesol: I mean I WAS high_

_thchwesol: but also an idiot_

Seungkwan sighs, chewing into his lip too hard. Things would be easier if Hansol didn’t actually sound like he understands what he did and that it was not a good thing. Things would be easier if Hansol was just some stoner asshole and Seungkwan could just cook him for a while and then let it go. But he was the one who said that Hansol seems like an aware person—sober, at least. Somehow, Hansol seems very sober right now.

            He’s still typing, too.

            _thchwesol: I’m not a bad person, I promise. That sounds really serial killery but I’m not a serial killer I’m just a guy who smokes weed sometimes or maybe a lot but not always and_

_thchwesol: who made a mistake_

_thchwesol: Let me try to fix it, even if that’s just explaining myself for real and apologizing in person like an actual adult_

_thchwesol: I’m not trying anything I swear_

_thchwesol: though you are like really cute and I’m an ass for saying this but I’m happy you hit me up to yell at me_

_thchwesol: Rightfully_

_thchwesol: this deserves yelling too_

_thchwesol: sorry_

_thchwesol: Also I’m kind of…..wondering what you’re wondering because what you said and what you asked and when you told me to take care of myself like nobody says that stuff but josh because to everyone else I’m just high all the time typical 420 blaze it stoner but you see it_

See it. _See what?_ Seungkwan thinks. _You?_

            The next message takes a long time, but Seungkwan just lets him type.

            _thchwesol: Please meet me. I’m not like those videos in real life. I’m nice and sort of interesting. I’m 20 since February and I went to UCLA before I couldn’t handle things and I really love baking and Chinese food, and I’m from New York and my parents are artists, and I’m half Korean half American, and I love pop rap and piano music and my best friend’s name is Joshua and he’s full Korean but all-American and I have a little sister in NY too her name is Sofia and I like singing but I’m not very good at it and my laugh is kind of messed up but it makes other people laugh too so that’s cool I think and I’ve read some books and know some politics and recycle a lot_

_thchwesol: and I’m sorry._

_thchwesol: What do you say?_

Well if he could get a word in edgewise. But…Hansol turned twenty in February? That makes him a month younger than Seungkwan. His parents are artists—that’s really cool. And he wants to know what Seungkwan is wondering. And he’s obviously very sorry.

            Someone walks right by Seungkwan’s table and he flinches, looking up at them and angling his phone screen into his stomach. They just walk by, earbuds in, probably not even noticing Seungkwan is there. He’s never been a noticeable person.

            He’s never gotten so many messages like this from anyone besides Soonyoung. He doesn’t get messages, much less messages back right away, he doesn’t get called cute, he doesn’t get paid attention to the way Hansol clearly read at least a good portion of what he sent to him. He puts in effort and expects nothing in return—because he doesn’t require it, but also because he’s learned that that’s how it is for him. But Hansol is asking, over and over, and now…

            This is ridiculous. This is _so_ messed up. Yesterday—this _morning_ he would have laughed at the mere suggestion. Fake boy.

            But not this one.

            _seungkwan_boos: Okay_

He expects his heart to finally make its escape this time, but it doesn’t. It just sits there obediently, doing its normal _thump thump_ , like finally it thinks something’s right.

            _thchwesol: Really? I’m not making you super uncomfortable?_

That’s a different story. Though his thump thump doesn’t seem to think so.

            _seungkwan_boos: Oh I’m uncomfortable_

_thchwesol: :/ god I’m sorry. Really_

_seungkwan_boos: But as long as you’re sober and have nothing on you when we meet_

            Good. Conditions. Boundaries. That’ll help. That makes him feel like his brain is actually having some control over what his thumbs are doing right now.

            _thchwesol: omg_

_thchwesol: Of course. No omg of c o u r se_

_thchwesol: Yes._

Seungkwan actually laughs a little, then purses his lips to stop himself.

            _seungkwan_boos: Fine. I’ll meet you. Two hours, there’s a café on_ (No, not yet. That’s still his and Soonyoung’s. And Seungcheol’s… Whatever.) _Two hours, Starbucks, S La Brea and 6. We’re getting regular old coffee and we’re doing Dutch because I don’t want you getting any ideas_

He hits send, and then he types _Because I KNOW I’m a biscuit_ , but then deletes it, and imagines Soonyoung placing a dunce cap on his head. Soonyoung, who is going to have a field day when he hears about this. Soonyoung who is going to ask Seungkwan what he was thinking in that moment, and Seungkwan will have no idea of the answer to that at all.

            He waits a moment, and this is the longest Hansol has taken to start replying, and the longest eight seconds of his life.

            _thchwesol: Consider me a blank slate._

Soonyoung doesn’t need to know until later.


	12. Three Strikes

Something about the situation before, maybe the fact that he was in the library, a safe and familiar place for him, must have dampened the real reaction. Now that it’s two hours later and Seungkwan is sitting alone at a two-person table inside the Starbucks on South La Brea and Sixth, ten minutes early, his thump thump is _really_ thumping, and his leg is bouncing and he’s chewing his lip, and he’s clutching his phone in his hand like a lifeline. He wants so badly to just text Soonyoung, but knowing his best friend, there won’t be any actual comfort from him—just caps lock and emojis and probably some semi-sexual comments. Better to just wait until later like he told himself before—an empirical follow-up instead of freaking out _a priori_.

            But god he is nervous. What was he thinking, meeting Hansol _today, right now_? He’s not a spontaneous interesting person. He’s a planner and a triple-checker and…this is crazy. This is _crazy_. What was he—

            The door opens, and he’s run out of chances to run away. Here they go.

            Hansol walks in—Adidas joggers with the stripes down the sides, grey T-shirt with the words _PRISM FILTER_ in squiggles like heat waves on it, no beanie, thank god. As he stands there for a moment, scanning the room, Seungkwan takes the time to size him up. Or…to _eye_ him up, honestly. He’s way good looking, maybe even more so in person because his flawless skin and highlighted hair, like the sun is somehow always hitting it right, are still just as perfect off camera. He’s tall, probably a couple centimeters taller than Seungkwan, and skinny in a kind of fit way. The way he stands, his legs curve outward just the slightest bit, which honestly shouldn’t affect Seungkwan at all, but he’s still looking at them by the time Hansol notices him there.

            “Seungkwan?” Hansol says, making him look up. Hansol smiles at him as he walks over, and Seungkwan thinks he might need to just pause time for a second to let his nerves settle down.

            This is dumb. He should be giving Hansol half a look, should be making it clear that he’s not happy with him and the reason why they’re meeting here right now. He should look like he’s here for an apology and doesn’t otherwise have energy to spare. But he’s always been expressive, and aware of his face, and he knows he looks like a skittish little schoolboy. He’s even wearing what Soonyoung once called his “fifth-grader shorts”—khaki uniform material with the dress code length to match.

            He crosses his ankles and squeezes his knees together under the table. “Yeah, hi.”

            Hansol smiles wider, and apparently his smoking hasn’t affected his teeth at all because they’re really nice—braces teeth, it looks like, and maintained. The smile itself is something else though. He comes to the table and tilts his head, still standing there. “Have you ordered yet? Also, it’s really nice to meet you. You’re, uh.” He looks sideways for a second. “Well, what I said before still applies.”

            If Seungkwan were Soonyoung he would smile coyly and say, _You mean that I’m still cute in person? I know_. But he’s Seungkwan, and though he wants to be like Soonyoung, or to at least throw in a _Shut up_ or _You too_ , he just looks up at Hansol and says, “Not yet.”

            “What do you want?” Hansol asks.

            Nothing. I’ll order it myself. Dutch, remember? “Just an Americano. Hot. Actually, iced.”

            Hansol just nods. “Sure thing. I’ll be right back, okay?”

            Seungkwan opens his mouth to reply and nothing comes out. He nods back.

            Hansol smiles easily at him then turns to go to the counter. Why do the joggers fit him so well all around?

            Seungkwan blinks, then looks forward and leans back in his chair. Okay. Was that terrible? It could have been a lot better if he was a social butterfly, but…oh yeah. The chrysalis. He hears Soonyoung saying _You have a tough shell,_ and mentally shoves his best friend away.

            Whatever. If he just calms down, he can do an actual proper introduction with Hansol, and then they’ll talk for a while—formalities following Hansol’s real apology—and then that’ll be the end of it, and Seungkwan can dust his hands clean of the whole situation. If only Hansol’s _face_ didn’t get in the way of all the things Seungkwan could be saying.

            He looks over at the register and Hansol is finishing up paying, giving the worker a smile. He takes his card back and thanks her, and then Seungkwan finds he couldn’t be a more awkward obvious vulnerable person when Hansol turns and looks right at him staring as he goes to wait at the counter. He flashes a grin, his bangs curving in a faded caramel comma just under his eyebrow on one side. Seungkwan feels his cheeks heat up and looks quickly down at his phone screen, tapping the home button like he’s doing something and staring at the picture that Seungcheol took of him surprise piggybacking Soonyoung (the surprise was Soonyoung’s idea) on campus, looking like he’s about to collapse. He feels kind of like that right now.

            Honestly, it’s ridiculous of him to be this nervous. Hansol is just a person. But Seungkwan isn’t good at people—especially strangers. But there’s also no backing out at this point. Even if there was…would he?

            A few miscellaneous anxious thoughts later, Hansol is walking back to him carrying two grande iced coffees, one dark—obviously Seungkwan’s—and one very creamy. “I hope the size is okay,” he says, placing Seungkwan’s drink down in front of him and taking the seat across the table. It’s pretty unfortunate that his voice is nice too—low but not deep, smooth and kind of soft.

            Seungkwan slides his drink closer to him, tucking his phone between his thighs. He actually would have just gotten a tall, but it was nice of Hansol to not be cheap about it. “No, this is good. Thanks.” He takes a sip, and he watches Hansol’s mouth as he does, too. Thin lips, but quite pink with a swoopy Cupid’s bow. And suddenly he’s self-conscious about his own mouth. He clears his throat and puts down his drink.

            “You sure?” Hansol asks, like maybe Seungkwan didn’t like the drink.

            Seungkwan blinks at him. “Oh, yeah, no, I just… What did you get?” He tilts his chin at Hansol’s cup of cream with some coffee in it.

            Hansol laughs and looks at it. “Um, vanilla and caramel with whole milk.” He smiles at Seungkwan, almost sheepishly. “I have a bit of a sweet tooth.”

            Seungkwan raises an eyebrow. “I could tell from your Instagram.”

            Hansol tilts his head. “You stalked me?”

            Seungkwan’s cheeks warm again and he turns to look at whatever’s over there on the wall. “Well, I had to find you somehow. To message you. It’s your only link.”

            Hansol smiles. “True. Well, no secret baking is a thing for me, so. For what it’s worth, I didn’t go to your account.” He brings his straw to his lips.

            Seungkwan’s lips do a slight pout and he has to remind himself not to let his little personal quirks show through. For some reason, he’s almost kind of hurt—another crack in his ego that even the person he was messaging and is now meeting didn’t take the time to look at his profile. Is he that boring? He almost actually asks why not, but if he said that it could be taken the wrong way and things could start getting weird. Weirder than they already are, considering he’s here at Starbucks talking to a YouTube stoner who he yelled at over Instagram DMs and who’s stupid attractive for no particular reason. And still no sign of the Hansol from the videos—the one who seemed to disappear over personal message. Real boy?

            “Out of respect,” Hansol adds, and Seungkwan notices his brows go up just the slightest in the middle, as if he thinks something’s wrong.

            Well, Seungkwan did have on his offended face. “Oh. Thanks, I guess.”

            Hansol wraps both hands around his coffee. “You’re different in real life, Seungkwan.”

            The offended face tries on again, but he stops it. Why is he different? Because he’s not being preachy or sneering at him or drowning him in psychology facts? _Yeah_ —because real life isn’t the same as messaging someone. He can type but he can’t talk. Especially not to Hollywood boys who buy him grandes just in case.

            He needs to pull himself together.

            “I just want to let you know that I’m meeting you here because I’m a polite and good-natured person,” he says pointedly.

            Hansol’s lips curve up on the side and he looks down like he’s trying to hide it. “Never mind. And I know. Thank you.”

            Seungkwan squints at him. “You’re welcome.” When Hansol doesn’t answer for a moment, Seungkwan randomly says, “Your cologne is interesting.”

            Hansol frowns and looks down at himself. “My…” He looks up and smiles. “Oh. Yeah, kind of rich and earthy, right?”

            Sure. It’s pretty faint, which is good. Guys who douse themselves in Axe have never been Seungkwan’s style, and Soonyoung often smells like peonies, which is cute and Seungcheol loves it, but it’s also not what Seungkwan likes as far as guys go. This smell is acceptable. “Yeah. It’s nice.”

            Hansol laughs a little and brings his coffee up. “Yeah, that’s weed.”

            That snaps Seungkwan out of it. He frowns and sits up straighter. “I laid out specific conditions—”

            “I swear on my life,” Hansol says, bringing a hand to his chest, looking like he knows he made a mistake. “I didn’t smoke before I came here and I’m not high. The most I’ve done today is film a video earlier this morning—when you sent the message actually—and I got a little high from that, but I waited for it to be over before I answered you. Since then, nothing. I promise.” He pauses while Seungkwan eyes him across the table. He draws an X on his chest. “Swear. Apparently weed is like…Subway bread. The smell stays with you for a bit. And I…may have worn these pants yesterday.”

            Seungkwan puts on his incredulous face. “I’ve taken a course on lying and deception.”

            “Cards on the table.” Hansol puts his drink down and his hands up. “Did you pass that course?”

            “Ninety-seven,” Seungkwan says. Then he sighs and leans back into his chair. “Fine.”

            Hansol sighs in relief. “Really, I promise.”

            Seungkwan just hums into his straw.

            “So…” Hansol wiggles his shoulders, getting comfortable. “Before we get to me falling on my knees, can I properly introduce myself?”

            Seungkwan shrugs. This is already weird enough. Maybe this will bring them back to what a normal conversation should be like. Intros, apology, outros. “Okay.”

            Hansol wiggles his shoulders again, like he’s mustering up the words. “Uhh… Hansol Vernon Chwe. I kind of told you a bunch of random things about myself in that paragraph where I went off a little. Sorry about that.” He laughs, his smile going more on one side. “I run a YouTube channel under the user THvC, and I bake a lot of stuff for that channel, and I accidentally hurt someone’s feelings on there recently, so…” He sighs, gripping his drink again, and looks right into Seungkwan’s eyes. Seungkwan feels fizzy in his chest. “I’m really sorry, Seungkwan. The moment you said something—the fact that you said something at _all_ —made me realize what a stupid and disrespectful thing that was to do. You’re right—that was your personal information and I never should have just given it out like that. I should have blurred out your name and your photo— _definitely_ shouldn’t have zoomed in like I did. I shouldn’t have even put the comment up. I just…” He squeezes his eyes shut and shakes his head at himself. “Well, it doesn’t matter the reason. There’s no valid reason anyway.” He looks at Seungkwan again with a plaintive expression. “I’m very sorry. I’ll take the video down if you want.”

            Seungkwan’s first thought is, _Well, what do_ you _think is the right thing to do?_ But he doesn’t need to rag on Hansol more than he already has. He sent his message—all he asked for was an apology. Taking the video down won’t do anything anyway, since it’s been a long enough time that relatively most people who were going to watch the video have already watched it. What happened happened. Hansol said he’s sorry, in person like he wanted, so…the end.

            “It’s not that important,” Seungkwan says. “It’s—”

            “Are you sure?” Hansol starts reaching into his pocket. “I’m serious. I can do it from my phone if—”

            “Really, Hansol.” Hansol stops and looks at him, his lips parted a little. It’s the first time Seungkwan has said Hansol’s name aloud—not just here but at all. It seems to surprise Hansol just as much as it surprises him. He clears his throat. “Really, it’s not that big a deal. Taking it down, I mean. What you _did_ was. But I forgive you.”

            Hansol blinks, his cup held at an awkward height above the edge of the table. “You do?”

            “Yeah.” Seungkwan shrugs one shoulder, trying to seem cool about it all. “Thank you for apologizing. I hope this kind of, you know.” He sips his coffee. “You learned something.”

            Hansol nods quickly. “I did. I learned I’m an oblivious fool.”

            Seungkwan is not about to let himself smile at that. He _is_ , however, about to take what looks like one small glimmer of a chance to say _Well, I guess I’ll be going_ , but—

            “So, are you native here?” Hansol looks at him with curious eyes, taking his drink in both hands again.

            Seungkwan sighs through his nose, swirls his coffee. “Um, no. I was born in Korea. I grew up on Jeju Island, actually.”

            The curiosity increases in diameter. Hansol’s eyes are a pretty, part-foreign hue of deep hazel, shaded by long lashes. “Whoa, really? That’s cool. I’ve only ever been once when I was like twelve but it’s a beautiful place.”

            It is, Seungkwan thinks, and he feels small pride over his hometown.

            “So you moved here?” Hansol asks.

            Apparently formalities are not enough for Hansol and he’ll be asking multiple further questions after falling on his knees. Seungkwan can feel Soonyoung prodding him forward with a manicured finger over the boundary of small talk he’s so typically incapable of crossing.

            He leans back and sips his coffee, nonchalant, crossing one arm and pretending like he’s chill and comfortable so that maybe he tricks himself into being so. “My parents came here when I was in elementary school. When I started university, they moved back home.” He tilts his head and thinks for a moment, considering saying more, then decides why not. Hansol is actually not a bad listener—he watches Seungkwan while he talks, and his gaze doesn’t flicker away when blenders whir or pretty girls walk in. “This city was a start for _me_ , I think,” Seungkwan says. “They wanted me to know English and to attend a good school and to live in a city with lots of prospects and connections. That’s the real reason they came here at all. So,” he looks down at his drink, “I’m trying really hard to fulfill what they wanted.”

            When he looks up, Hansol tilts his head too. “You mean like—like are they telling you what to study?”

            Seungkwan hums. “Not like that,” he says, shaking his head. “I mean that, I just want to make them happy. They’re not forcing me to be a doctor or something but they want me to have a good life. They gave up the place they’d known all their lives and came here and found jobs and worked really hard to give me privilege. I can’t fail that. I want them to have pride in their son.”

            Hansol raises his eyebrows. “Wow. That’s really admirable. Makes me look like a complete bum.”

            Seungkwan laughs a little, accidentally, because he imagines Hansol in his beanie and slouchy casual clothes, sitting on a curb with a cardboard sign that says _Will Smoke U Out 4 Food_. His attitude wants to make him feel upset again over the whole smoke you out thing, but the feedback from his smile won’t let it. Strike one.

            “You’re laughing because I _do_ look like a bum, right?” Hansol says, suppressing an obvious grin.

            Seungkwan shakes his head. “No, you don’t. That style looks really good on you actually.” Okay. Where did that come from.

            Hansol smiles big. It is _really_ something. “Oh, thank you. It’s my ‘I own four pairs of pants and a rack of ten T-shirts’ look.” He snorts. “I actually have one pair of shorts but they don’t look good on me like yours do on you.”

            Okay. Where is any of this coming from?

            Seungkwan swallows. “Oh, uh…my best friend actually hates these shorts. Actually, he’d set my entire wardrobe on fire if he could probably.”

            Hansol makes a face. “Why? You look like a regular boy.”

            “Oh, that’s exactly why,” Seungkwan says, rolling his eyes. “Soonyoung is…eccentric. He pulls off the tightest jeans or the shortest shorts and crop tops and see-through flowy shirts and big colorful sweaters—always _so_ colorful—and this insane diamond belly button piercing. It’s…” He shakes his head, because Soonyoung’s style in words is really unbelievable, and worse since he looks freaking _fantastic_ in it all.

            Hansol raises his hands in surrender. “Jeez, okay. Excuse the rest of us then for not being so fashion forward.”

            Seungkwan puts a hand out. “Right? That’s what I tell him.” He huffs and leans back in his chair, slumping a little, his body relaxed. “We can’t all be the long lost third Hilton brother.”

            Hansol laughs. “I didn’t even know there were brothers.”

            Seungkwan widens his eyes. “Well, if Soonyoung were one, you would.”

            Hansol chuckles again. “I think my friend is like, the Seoul Fashion Week version to your friend’s valley style. He’s got this prep street thing going on—real pants if he’s not at home, and the kind of shirts you can somehow wear to literally any setting. He wouldn’t burn my wardrobe though, so that’s a plus on my end.”

            “No need to brag about it,” Seungkwan says, pouting out his lips in the almost playful version of his personal quirk. He’s wondering what exactly is going on right now when he’s distracted by Hansol smiling as he bites his straw. Oh.

            “Uh—Joshua?” Seungkwan asks, saying anything to redirect his attention.

            Hansol nods. “That’s the guy. I’ve known him for like, years now. Four, I think. He was in his high school senior year and I was a freshman. He was up in New York on spring break touring NYU, and back then I was really into music—performance, anyway; I’m still really into music. And my mom is actually a professor there in the arts department, so sometimes I would go into the music room when it was empty and mess around. Josh’s tour had ended so he was wandering the campus since classes weren’t on, and he came into the music room.”

            “Best friends at first sight?” Seungkwan asks with a little laugh.

            Hansol laughs too. “Yeah, I'd say. I had braces and long hair and I’ve done a major glow up since then.” Seungkwan smiles a little having guessed the braces thing right. “But he’d had his glow up already, so god knows why he talked to me since I was way younger and super ugly,” Hansol says, and Seungkwan doubts that Hansol was particularly ugly at any point in his life. “Well, actually," Hansol half smiles, "it’s cause he’s just really cool and one of the nicest people you’ll ever meet. Anyway, so we kept in touch after he chose to stay in LA for college, and then I moved here.” He nods and sips his drink.

            Seungkwan hums. “That’s great that you managed to stay friends literally across the country. I don’t know if Soonyoung and I could have. I mean, I’d like to think we could. I’ve known him since high school too. He was the only junior who talked to me my first year. We met on our first day of Spanish class, since he saved his two years for the end while I wanted to get mine over with. My parents were kind of weirded out by him, which for some reason I kind of liked.” He laughs once, thinking of the first time his parents met Soonyoung, back when his hair was longish and poorly bleached and he put little golden stars on the sides of his eyes (which he replaces these days with admittedly Fashion Week worthy streaks of glitter pigment on special occasions and nights out with Seungcheol. His Instagram has many photos of them in neon-lit clubs, with Seungcheol in black and a chair facing the camera, dark and shadowed, and Soonyoung sideways either next to him or entirely in his lap, one arm loosely over Seungcheol’s shoulders and the other hand on his chest near the V of his shirt, and his slash of fine sparkle like a comet tail out from his made-up eyes bright in the light from the camera). Soonyoung met his parents back when they were still coming to terms with Seungkwan’s sexuality too, which made the situation that much more interesting, even though he told them plenty of times that Soonyoung was just a friend. “They’re very traditional,” he says, smiling.

            “And you’re not?” Hansol asks.

            Seungkwan shrugs. “I mean, I did go through a lot of LA public school. I wouldn’t say traditional Korean runs through every vein.”

            Hansol nods in agreement. “Totally true.”

            “Were you born in Korea?” Seungkwan asks, then redacts it. “Oh wait—New York.”

            “Mhm,” Hansol says with a smile. “Born and raised until last year.”

            “Was that when you came to UCLA?”

            Hansol nods. “Yep. And then that didn’t work out, so here I am, running a YouTube channel.”

            “Why did you leave?” Seungkwan asks.

            Hansol just looks at him for a second, and then for the first time, his gaze falters, and he looks down and away as he speaks. “Uh—I guess it just wasn’t good for me. At the time. It got difficult and. Yeah.”

            Seungkwan really did get a ninety-seven in that lying and deception class. Hansol is quieter, and genuine at least in his intentions, so Seungkwan won’t push it. But he finds himself curious about the real reason.

            “I understand,” he says. “Were you studying art like your parents?”

            Hansol smiles again and shakes his head. “Nah, I like art but I suck at it. I was basically just doing gen eds since I didn’t really know what I wanted to study. I’m into space and science and artificial intelligence and stuff, but I don’t know what I’m really good at.”

            From the three-hour video about the moon’s existence, Seungkwan thinks that makes some sense. _And technology, maybe,_ he thinks. _Video production_. “That’s okay. I mean, there’s always plenty of time later. Sometimes I wish I had taken a gap year or something after high school. But I joined Soonyoung at our school, so I don’t regret not doing it either.”

            “I think it’s cool that you’ll be finished so fast,” Hansol says. “Though you probably want to do grad school, huh?”

            Seungkwan nods. “That’s the plan anyway. So, you just do YouTube now?”

            Hansol puts on a dignified face, lifting his chin. “I have a job too, thank you very much.” He sips his coffee with his eyes closed.

            This time Seungkwan’s brows go up. “Oh, I didn’t know.” Of course he didn’t know. What a dumb thing to say. Except that, right now, it kind of feels like he knows Hansol a lot better than someone he just met ten minutes ago. He’s never able to just carry on normal conversation like this, asking good questions and everything. Is that totally insane? Soonyoung told him once that when he went on his first few dates with Seungcheol, he felt like they’d known each other for years already, and they could talk for hours without noticing the passage of time. _Like old friends. New lovers,_ Soonyoung said.

            But—this isn’t a date, and he’s not Soonyoung and Hansol’s not Seungcheol, and Hansol did something _bad_ that he came here to _apologize_ for and Seungkwan should be _irked_ about it still. And he’s clearly _very_ insane to be thinking any of this at all.

            “What is it?” he gets out.

            “I’m like…” Hansol looks at the ceiling for the words. “A remote credit typist? You know how the credits roll at the end of films with all the names and jobs and stuff? Someone has to type all that out, right? I mean, I didn’t do _Black Panther_ or anything—I don’t work for a studio titling department or anything like that. I do more the kind of middle-budget independent movies—film festival kind of type. I just get sent the information and then format it into the huge thing they roll at the end when everyone stands up and leaves the theater. Talk about underappreciated work.” He laughs.

            But Seungkwan just looks at him. Why does that sound fake but completely legitimate? Where do you even get that job? He mutters out, “I mean, I guess, LA…”

            “I know, it’s weird, right?” Hansol says. “It’s like a freelance kind of thing. The worst thing about it is the individual contracts I get asked to sign most of the time about not giving out information. Plus the possibility of typing someone’s name wrong. But I’ve made like two hundred dollars for two or three hours of work so.” He shrugs. “It pays the bills. And I’m quicker than the average typist too. Fast fingers,” he says, wiggling one hand like he does in his videos.

            The first sign of the guy from the videos, actually—albeit a really muted version. Seungkwan lifts an eyebrow.

            Hansol laughs, tucking up his shoulders. “Sorry. Throw that one away.”

            Seungkwan shakes his head at him, and why does it feel…fond? “Weirdo. So you YouTube and you…type credits.”

            Hansol nods to the side. “Pretty much. I mean, I do make a bit from YouTube, so.”

            Oh yeah—Hansol does have a fair follower count. All those people who saw Seungkwan’s face. Sigh. “How much?” Seungkwan asks. “I mean—if you don’t mind me wondering.”

            “No, it’s cool,” Hansol says. “Uh, my ratio is pretty awesome—subs to views.” He leans forward toward Seungkwan a little—interest in the subject. “You want to get at least ten percent, right? So, I’ve got two hundred ninety-five K subs, so twenty-nine K views is pretty awesome.”

            Seungkwan frowns. “But you get way more than that.”

            Hansol smiles. “Yeah, it’s pretty rad. Plus, my setup and editing are all cheap since I do everything myself, so I don’t take cuts from that. After YouTube’s cut, I make like…maybe twelve, fourteen hundred a month. Just from the videos. And then I have my job, too, so depending on what’s available and what I pick up from that, usually at least four a month, I’d say I get another thousand, minimum.”

            _What_. Hansol makes at the very least twenty-four hundred a month, and though Seungkwan is aware that a chunk of it goes to… _supplies_ , that’s honestly pretty impressive. It’s no seven-figure trust fund like Seungcheol—not that Seungkwan really cares—but it’s plenty enough to get by. Hansol actually _works_.

            But Hansol also just shrugs— _actually_ shrugs, like what he just said has no importance at all. “It is what it is. It’s a cool job and I love my channel so—life goes.” He just sips his coffee. “So yeah—my computer is my entire existence. I would make zero paper without my screen.”

            Seungkwan doesn’t know what to say for a minute. “Uh—wow. Really, wow. That’s really cool?”

            “I know?” Hansol asks back.

            Seungkwan laughs. “Seriously, that’s—I’ve never heard of that job before. And I didn’t know YouTube paid like that.”

            “It really is all about the views,” Hansol says. “Having a jillion subscribers is great but if nobody watches your videos, you don’t get ads, you don’t get your per-thousand wage. It’s a whole thing.” He waves his hand.

            Seungkwan smiles at him. “It’s cool though. All I do is go to school. I’ve never even had a job.”

            “I’d trade places though—if I could keep my channel,” Hansol says. “You’re on a track and you’re respectable. And you’re really smart, obviously.”

            Seungkwan blushes a little. “Thanks.” He looks at the table, at his coffee. “So, are your parents cool with it? The whole…concept?”

            Hansol does a long, unsure hum, looking to the side. He laughs and says, “Umm…yeah. They’re not _huge_ fans, but they support me in everything. And they know I’m not, like, a meth head or a _complete_ bum, so. They love me no matter what.” He grins. “They don’t let Sofia watch my videos, though. But she’s told me she watched some anyway. By the way—was it the knowledge that made you against marijuana? Or family stuff?”

            Seungkwan closes his eyes, nods, and sips his drink. This was bound to come up eventually, and that whole part of the message he sent hasn’t been talked about between them yet. Hansol really does just sound curious though. “I don’t know how much about Korea you know,” he says. Hansol makes a face like just some. “Wait, do you speak Korean?”

            “Pretty much,” Hansol says, in perfect Korean. “My dad spoke Korean in the house a lot and started teaching me when I was five, but otherwise it was all English.” He smiles and switches languages again. “Like in school and stuff.”

            Seungkwan nods, pushing away the thought that Hansol’s voice when he speaks Korean, even a little deeper and quite smooth, is very attractive. “That’s good, though. I started learning English seriously when I was six. Anyway, so, over there, even the softer drugs like marijuana are really looked down upon. It’s not talked about as openly as here and it’s certainly not legal like it is here and other places in the country. So you can guess what my parents’ ideas on it were.”

            Hansol’s mouth opens in understanding. “Ahh. Gotcha.” He finds his straw and watches Seungkwan intently, listening for more.

            Why are his eyes so cute?

            “Um,” Seungkwan says. “So—but then, when I was learning more about it as I did research and stuff for AP psych senior year, it kind of solidified my beliefs into place.”

            Hansol nods over and over again, coffee level lowering in his cup to near empty. “That makes total sense. I guess upbringing has a lot to do with it. Like I said, my parents are pretty chill about that kind of stuff, since they know I have a life. Does it gross you out?” he asks.

            Seungkwan opens his mouth to speak, then stops. Yeah, it kind of does, usually. But it’s different now. He doesn’t want to say it does because _Hansol_ doesn’t gross him out—far from it. Like, way far. The fact that he smokes weed is not cool to Seungkwan and if he could get Hansol to stop tomorrow, even just his health considered, Seungkwan would feel really accomplished. But he also understands to a very small degree that Hansol smoking isn’t just some dumb fun, and it’s not about the smoking—it’s the getting high. There’s something behind it, something behind that lie by omission that Hansol told him earlier about leaving college, that Seungkwan doesn’t know. Yet.

            “Uh, I mean—” he starts.

            “A little?” Hansol says, face in minor pain.

            Seungkwan tilts his head back and forth. “I mean, it’s not my cup of tea and I don’t really like being around it. Soonyoung has tried lots of times to get me to try it one time and I’m just not interested. I don’t think it’s…the smartest or safest thing to do, honestly.”

            “I can tell,” Hansol says, no impudence in his voice. “And I totally respect that. Which, I mean, I think you respect my thing too. You’re actually the first dissenter I’ve met who isn’t just a total hater, like, telling me I’m gonna die and all that. Like, you have the science to back your argument. But even though you were pretty scathing—”

            “Okay, I thought I was being fancy with that word and now it just keeps coming back to me?” Seungkwan says, laughing. “Seriously. You, Soonyoung.”

            Hansol laughs too. “Well, it’s the perfect word. Your writing _was_ scathing. But it was also respectful, and helpful if I wasn’t so stubborn about my tendencies. I feel like…you respect my beliefs, even though you very much disagree with them.” He tilts his head, asking, and the light over their table makes a shadow under his jaw, square and keen.

            Seungkwan looks at it, at Hansol’s curious eyes, his hair, his whole thing. Strike two.

            “I do,” Seungkwan says. “But you’re right.” He smiles. “I don’t like it.”

            Hansol smiles back.

            “So are you just super liberal all around then?” Seungkwan asks.

            Hansol looks confused for a moment before it dawns on him. “Oh, that. Naysaying republican?” Seungkwan nods. Hansol snorts. “Yeah, no, I’m really just like…I have this persona for the camera—sweary anticapitalist screw-your-opinions kind of thing.”

            “I can tell,” Seungkwan says back.

            Hansol nods in concession. “I know, I know. It kind of developed over time and it’s what my viewers seem to expect and like from me now. It works with the concept though, no? I mean, the irony of a sweary anticapitalist stoner who makes pretty confectionery.” He laughs again, kind of a giggle, and Seungkwan agrees. “But I’m not like that really,” Hansol says. “If you couldn’t tell. I actually don’t swear much or my mom would kill me and I’d hear it from Josh too, even though he gets to swear. And if we’re talking politics…” He looks up again as he’s thinking (maybe his personal quirk, Seungkwan thinks) then shrugs. “I can’t really categorize myself into one side since my opinions never fully line up. Like, I believe in weed and immigration and abortion, but also in like, some Amendments and stuff.”

            Seungkwan does a short hum. “Fair. Me too. Commandments?”

            Hansol shrugs again. “Sure, I mean they’re valid rules. I’m not religious, if that’s what you’re asking. My parents are Christian but you could call me more spiritual.”

            Seungkwan laughs once. “Yeah, you don’t know spiritual until you’ve met Soonyoung. He’s literally all about chakras and synergy and enlightenment and matcha.”

            Hansol raises his eyebrows. “Hey, I bake with matcha a lot so maybe we’d get along.”

            He chuckles, and Seungkwan does too, thinking, _Oh, you’d get along. He already adores you._ Soonyoung’s freaking opinions. Seungkwan’s freaking best friend.

            “And that’s cool,” Hansol adds. “I’m down with the LA way. He probably looks great in Fenty highlighter.”

            Seungkwan laughs even more. “He does actually. That purple unicorn one looks fantastic on his skin. He’s taken many a yogi photoshoot on the beach with that highlighter on his cheeks and collarbones—and don’t forget the Cupid’s bow.”

            Hansol grins. “That’s awesome. So he does yoga?”

            “Oh, it’s his life,” Seungkwan says, putting his elbow on the table and his cheek in his hand, looking over at Hansol. “He studies it too.”

            “You can study yoga?”

            “You can at private Loyola Marymount University.”

            Hansol lights up. “Oh! The one with the big steps?”

            Seungkwan’s smile feels soft, comfortable, even though he just drank a bunch of caffeine. He thinks about Soonyoung’s impossible handstand in the sunlight on those steps. In his imagination, Soonyoung’s cheekbones shine purple. He gazes at Hansol’s cheekbones, and maybe a stark white color with some pink duochrome—Confetti, maybe—would be great for his skin tone. All he says is, “Mhm.”

            Hansol smiles gently back at him. “Do you go there too?”

            “Mhm.”

            “So you _do_ go to private uni,” Hansol says.

            Seungkwan tilts his head. “Huh?”

            Hansol blinks. “Oh, just—before when—it’s hard to explain. Let’s just say I deleted some footage that would have been even more mistake on my part. After you messaged me. That video I filmed earlier today.”

            Seungkwan nods. He starts to wonder what it was Hansol said, about him maybe, but then realizes that he doesn’t care. It’s deleted and Hansol is here being a really nice normal relaxing person. “Ahh. Good.”

            “Yeah. Yikes, Hansol.” He laughs. “So, what do you study? I meant to ask before.”

            “Oh. Uh, behavioral neuroscience.”

            Hansol’s face gets intense. “Wait, _what_? For real?”

            Seungkwan feels pride again that Hansol seems impressed. “Yeah. I’m taking lots of different neuroscience and psychology classes for my degree. Right now I’m in positive psychology, advanced abnormal psychology since I took the intro last semester, intro to counseling, and a seminar in applied behavioral analysis. I want to go to grad school for counseling, actually. I want to be a therapist for substance abuse.”

            Hansol looks then like he understands the universe—or at least the little universe that’s sitting across from him. “ _Ohhh._ I get it now. How you know so much about the brain and,” he puts a hand out, “why you don’t believe in cannabis or any other drug for that matter.”

            “Not even prescription,” Seungkwan says, shaking his head. “I mean, with necessity, sure, but this country is the prescription capital of the world and…we just don’t need as much as we think we do. Overdiagnosis is a huge problem, and we’re actually creating a lot of illness _by_ prescribing medications when cognitive, behavioral, and emotional therapy would have fixed or at least helped the issue without any chemical changes to the body. We just need a better health care system so that more people have access to mental health professionals.”

            Hansol sits there looking at him for a moment. “You’re…you’re really smart.”

            Seungkwan blushes again and stirs around the ice in his cup. “I’m just passionate about it.”

            “That’s great I think. I mean, all I can say is that weed hasn’t changed me as far as I can tell. I’m just a chill person anyway usually,” Hansol says. “And I do, uh…a fair amount, so I’m no doctor but I can attest to something. I’m pretty attuned to changes in my body.”

            _Bullshit_ , Seungkwan thinks. _It’s not your body, Hansol. It’s your psyche._ _You’re running._ “You sound like Soonyoung,” he says, smiling halfway.

            “So you’ve never tried it?” Hansol asks.

            Seungkwan sighs. “No, and I don’t intend to.”

            Hansol sticks out his lower lip and nods. “Okay, cool, cool.” He sips the last of his drink, slurping. “Though you don’t have to smoke it, you know.”

            Seungkwan eyes him. “Hansol.”

            “But it is the fastest way and depending on your cut, just a few hits would be enough.”

            “You’re literally barking up completely the wrong tree—”

            “Plus, I _seriously_ do want to smoke you out. Well, get you high at least. I just want to shotgun you honestly.”

            Seungkwan stares at him. The sassy part of him wants to say _Excuse me?_ and get upset or walk out, but the rest of him is actually processing what Hansol said. Isn’t shotgunning…kissing? Sort of? His eyes flick down to Hansol’s mouth, and it makes Seungkwan turn a little red, and Hansol smiles again while he bites his straw.

            “Has Soonyoung done it?” Hansol asks.

            Seungkwan clears his throat. “Once. Maybe twice. Why does it matter?”

            “Is he dead?”

            Seungkwan rolls his eyes.

            “Is his brain completely messed up?”

            “That’s debatable,” Seungkwan says. _And_ stop _looking at his mouth._

            Hansol chuckles. “You know what I mean. Just one time. I mean, I don’t wanna be that guy who pressures you into it but I just want to do it with you once.”

            Seungkwan chews his lip. This is stupid. It’s stupid that he’s considering anything again. No way he’s going to just abandon all his morals for a chance to kiss Hansol. But—no, that’s stupid to even be _wanting_ a chance. This is all so messed up, and Soonyoung would be absolutely shaking right now if he knew about all this, and how did Seungkwan go from yelling at Hansol over text about psychology and respect to having a whole normal comfortable interesting conversation and starting to want to kiss him in the span of three or four hours, all basically condensed into these last twenty minutes? What’s wrong with him? What’s wrong with _Hansol_? Doesn’t he know nobody ever wants to just kiss Seungkwan or even talk to him like this or anything? Doesn’t he know Seungkwan is a loser and YouTube celebrities and boys who buy grandes wouldn’t go near him if they had to?

            He sees Hansol again, standing over the Hollywood star, arms out in the sun and grinning. He sees the other beautiful photos from his Instagram, colors and icing and sweetness. He sees the message Hansol sent full of random facts about him, the apology afterward. He sees Hansol walking into this Starbucks, and turning around in his joggers, and being polite to the woman at the counter, and sitting there in front of him smiling right now.

            _God_ he wants Hansol to kiss him.

            Strike three.

            “You’re definitely being that guy.” His voice comes out too quiet, a little raspy.

            Hansol smiles—his usual grin, but something hopeful behind it. “Does that mean it’s working?”

            Seungkwan looks at him. “You said I see it. What did you mean?”

            Hansol’s smile fades. He looks away again at anything but Seungkwan. “Oh. I was just rambling.” He laughs and it almost sounds nervous. “I was being weird. Sorry. I got kind of carried away. I just…” He looks back at Seungkwan, his eyebrows up in the middle. “Wanted to meet you.”

            Seungkwan sighs again. It really is something Hansol doesn’t want to talk about—or isn’t ready to. The future therapist in him both really wants to figure it out while also understanding that Hansol can’t be forced and he’ll be ready when he’s ready. But he’s _so_ curious. Hansol is not the shallow thing that his followers see in his videos. Something is under there.

            _What are you trying to get away from?_

            Seungkwan says simply, “I’ll find out.”

            Hansol looks almost worried, but then a steady resolve comes over his expression. He holds his empty cup closer to his chest in both hands. “If you let me, I’ll let you.”

            Seungkwan tilts his head.

            Hansol puts his cup down and leans forward. “Smoke once with me— _one_ time—and I’ll tell you. I get like that anyway. Afterwards.”

            Seungkwan raises an eyebrow. “You’re bribing me with information?”

            Hansol smiles sadly. It softens his face and makes him astonishingly handsome. “It’s all I have.”

            Seungkwan shakes his head, bites down on his lip again. He turns to the side and crosses his arms. “Am I really…”

            Hansol’s smile widens. “Are you?”

            Seungkwan looks sideways at him.


	13. Reason

It’s almost four pm by the time Seungkwan steps off the elevator onto the second floor of Soonyoung’s apartment building. He didn’t say he was coming to visit, but after what just happened in Starbucks, what he agreed to, he has to get at least some of it out. He prepared himself for Soonyoung’s hurricane reaction to it all on the way here, but he knows it’ll still hit him hard the moment he even says he met Hansol in person. The eye of the storm as Soonyoung calms down when Seungkwan says they had a good talk and nothing of note happened. The inner bands when Seungkwan takes a bit of that back and tells him that tonight, he’s going to be meeting Hansol at his apartment and…

            God, what is he thinking.

            He makes his way to apartment 2D and knocks.

            In a moment, Soonyoung pulls open the door. Outfit of the day: blue terrycloth shorts that barely reach mid-thigh and a slouchy cropped champagne color shirt, both of which look like he could have just thrown them on a second ago. Messy hair and red cheeks and smudged eye makeup, and a grin. Oh, and yellow ankle socks with little grapefruit slices all over them.

            Seungkwan leans sideways, peeking past Soonyoung into the apartment. “Is…Seungcheol here or? Am I interrupting?”

            Soonyoung laughs. “No, I was just sobbing my eyes out over _Your Name_. Come in, lovely.”

            Seungkwan shakes his head and follows him in, slipping off his shoes and shutting the door behind him. Take Soonyoung’s personality and throw it onto a wall and this is what you get. His apartment is indie, eclectic, with a style that’s no style in particular—mauve-colored walls, plants hanging from various places, pictures ranging from a pop art blonde girl to an abstract black slash of paint on a white background to a woven tapestry with an elephant holding a rose in its trunk, fairy lights around doorways, an actual purple lava lamp on the table by the mustard faux suede sofa, a tie dye patterned yoga mat on top of a fuzzy rug in the place where a coffee table should be. Of all the people in the world, Soonyoung should be the first to believe in _feng_ _shui_ , but he told Seungkwan once that it’s baseless and a waste of time and empty space. Of course it is.

            As Soonyoung leads him through the living area, Seungkwan spots the counter by the kitchen and smiles. “Oh, it’s doing well.”

            Soonyoung prances over to his Bonsai, displaying it between his hands—perfectly manicured (the tree and the hands), with gentle waves drawn with a tiny wooden rake into the sand around the pebbles holding the trunk. “I take care of him twice a day every day,” Soonyoung says. “His name is Kwon BonBon.”

            Seungkwan laughs and reaches up to fix Soonyoung’s bangs. “What were you doing? Rolling around on your bed?”

            Soonyoung pouts out his lower lip. “It’s a sad movie, Kwan. I had to shove my face in a pillow for a bit.”

            Seungkwan rolls his eyes, because this must be the thirtieth time Soonyoung has watched the movie, and he still cries on every single viewing. “Oh, come on.” He goes to the bedroom and waves Soonyoung after him.

            It’s the same in here, but nothing exactly similar. The fairy lights are a lighter white, the hanging plants are instead succulents in tiny pots along the windowsill, Soonyoung’s bedside lamp has strings of glass beads hanging down around the edge that refract points of light onto the darker mauve walls, and the fuzzy rug on the floor is so fuzzy you could lose your toes in it. Soonyoung’s bed is covered in an assortment of pillows, no two alike, and Seungkwan can see the one Soonyoung mentioned—his favorite one, the magenta one with a sunflower embroidered on the middle that Seungkwan got him for Valentine’s Day two years ago—squished in the shape of a death grip hug.

            Soonyoung hops up onto his bed and shuts his laptop, putting it on the table, and grabs his pillow to squeeze close to his chest. He sits cross-legged on one end of the bed and pats the fluffy cream duvet for Seungkwan to come up, then reaches to his bedside and picks up a box of matches. He holds one up and says, “Join me, Kwan.”

            It makes Seungkwan particularly nervous for later tonight, though Soonyoung could have no idea about it yet. He sighs and joins Soonyoung, crossing his legs and taking the sunny side up egg pillow Soonyoung hands to him after lighting the sticks of incense he has next to his bed. A gentle smell of lavender greets Seungkwan warmly, and he pulls the pillow close to his stomach, running his fingertips over the soft fuzz of the yolk, and…doesn’t know where to start. He and Soonyoung can talk about anything, but all Seungkwan can think about is Hansol.

            Soonyoung settles into place in front of him, stretching his legs straight out (which must only be comfortable for someone as flexible as him), and situates a blue pillow behind his lower back. Seungkwan tilts his head at the flash of an unfamiliar yellow sparkle. “Is that new jewelry I see?”

            Soonyoung grins and moves the sunflower pillow out of the way. Seungkwan looks at his stomach—toned enough for just one small dip of a roll, skin only—and at the new piece. “Oh, Cheol gave it to me this morning,” Soonyoung says. “Surprise extra birthday present.”

            “It’s gold,” Seungkwan remarks.

            Soonyoung nods. “Mhm. Well, it’s yellow gold anyway. The diamond is pink! Isn’t it cute?”

            Sure. Very cute. Likely equally as pure gold as the last one, and the rosy gemstone might even be another half-millimeter bigger. It probably cost as much as a semester’s payment for Seungkwan’s dorm—a big chunk of his scholarship. That tiny little sparkly thing on Soonyoung’s perfect midsection. “Yeah, I like it,” he says. Which is true; it’s just kind of ugh. Well, anyway.

            “Me too.” Soonyoung leans cutely onto his pillow. “It was really sweet of him. How’s studying going?”

            Seungkwan’s heart does a thing.

            _Well, it got interrupted today because—_

_Great. Though I won’t be doing any more tonight since—_

_Soonyoung, I’m going to Hansol’s apartment later to—yes, I met him—to smoke weed with him because I’m hopeless and I want to know what’s wrong. We’ll probably kiss too._

“It’s good,” he says. “I think I’m prepared for finals next week.” Soonyoung is lucky—all four of his courses either didn’t have a final exam or substituted with some kind of yoga project. He’s been free and relaxing since the last day of classes. Meanwhile, Seungkwan is studying his butt off, already anxious enough about his exams, and now he’s got _this_ whole thing mixed into it. “So. Yeah.” He looks at the duvet.

            Soonyoung puckers his lips, eyeing him. “You seem weird, Kwannie. And you dropped in unannounced, which is uncharacteristic of the world’s most detailed and neurotic planner. What’s up?” But before Seungkwan has a chance to get a word out, Soonyoung gasps and gets a worried look on his face. “Wait, is something wrong?” Seungkwan tries again, and is interrupted with yet another gasp and big eyes, this time glinting with excitement. “ _Wait._ Oh my god, wait. Kwannie. Please.”

            Seungkwan frowns at him. “You’re the one who needs to wait, Kwon, Jesus. Let me get one word in.”

            Soonyoung doesn’t bat an eyelash. He leans forward as if getting closer will make Seungkwan speak up faster. “Does this have something to do with YouTube Boy? Did you message him?”

            Seungkwan sighs and looks sideways.

            “You _did_. Oh my gosh.” He flaps one of his hands around excitedly, clutching into the pillow with the other. “Tell me what happened.”

            Seungkwan puts on what Soonyoung sometimes calls his “principal face.” Why do all of his names for Seungkwan’s idiosyncrasies have something to do with grade school? “I’m trying to tell you, Soonyoung, so you have to be quiet. Yeesh, Seungcheol keeps you calmer than this these days.” Soonyoung scrunches his nose at him, but Seungkwan just lifts his chin higher. “Promise you won’t interrupt me until I’m done and I say you can go.”

            Soonyoung hums, cheeks puffed out a little. “ _Mmm_. Fine. Fine, promise, just go I need to _know_.”

            _So do I,_ Seungkwan thinks. _That’s why I’m doing this._

He tells Soonyoung almost everything. The whole time, Soonyoung squirms around, reacting with big eyes and small body movements and little noises since he can’t say any actual words. Seungkwan tells him about the message he sent first—the really long one—and Soonyoung makes a face like he can’t believe Seungkwan. He tells Soonyoung about Hansol messaging back when he was at the library, about the hundred times Hansol said he was sorry, and how Hansol asked _him_ to meet up, and Soonyoung kicks his feet on the mattress in front of Seungkwan’s legs. He gives a sort of detailed summary of their talk at Starbucks, of what Hansol looks like in real life, of the questions they asked each other and of the times when Hansol wouldn’t answer some of his questions truthfully. He omits some small details—like how he was feeling, how he kept staring at Hansol by accident and his mouth specifically at later moments, how truly kind and genuine Hansol seemed—but nothing too important. By the time he stops just before the part where Hansol asked him if he’s ever tried weed, Soonyoung is basically vibrating, squeezing his pillow so tight it could burst at the seams, and he looks like he’s been holding his breath for three days.

            Seungkwan takes a long pause just for good measure, just for that new pink diamond, and then says, “Okay, you can go.”

            Immediately: “Wahhh! Seungkwan!” Soonyoung wiggles his upper body around. He grins huge at Seungkwan, and Seungkwan just stares blankly at nothing. “Get over yourself, you cabbage!” Soonyoung says, and he whacks Seungkwan’s knee with his pillow. “This is great! You two hit it off so well, what the heck? You—that was basically a date. Do you know anything about seeing him again? Did it end well? Oh my god, this is so perfect. I knew this would work out.”

            Seungkwan gives him a look. “You know nothing about it, Soonyoung.”

            Soonyoung lifts one brow at him. “Beg to differ, Kwannie. You _never_ just talk with people like that. And from what you tell me, he seemed totally into you. He asked you all those questions and he answered yours, and—”

            “Wait.” Seungkwan looks down again, thinking. The feeling in his chest isn’t light and happy. Yes, the conversation was great, and maybe they did hit it off in some kind of way, but that’s not why he’s here, and not why he’s seeing Hansol again later. There’s something more important that Soonyoung doesn’t understand. How could he? Even Seungkwan doesn’t understand it yet. As far as he knows, Hansol is the only one with the answer. _That’s_ his reason.

            Soonyoung, attuned to all things but especially to Seungkwan, feels the change right away. “Uh-oh. What is it?”

            Seungkwan sighs and starts poking mindlessly at the egg yolk. “There’s really something up, though,” he says. “ _Hansol_ is not the same. Something’s…” He stops, looking up into Soonyoung’s eyes as if Soonyoung could reveal everything for him. He chews his lip for a second, then says, “Here. Look.”

            He scoots over, and Soonyoung does too until they’re side by side, looking down at Seungkwan’s phone in his hand. Seungkwan pulls open Instagram, finding Hansol’s page again, and starts scrolling through the photos for Soonyoung to look.

            “Oooh—he’s a pretty good photographer,” Soonyoung says. “Pretty shots. Pretty guy,” he adds, pointing at one photo of Joshua in a field at dusk with two sparklers in his hand.

            “That’s his best friend, Josh,” Seungkwan tells him. “They met in New York City. But I mean, look. All this colorful baking, nice scenery and innocent smiling photos.”

            Soonyoung looks at him and shrugs. “Yeah?”

            Seungkwan spots the Walk of Fame photo again and keeps it on the screen, gazing at it—the grin, the daisy on the shirt, the sun on those cheekbones that would look great in Confetti. “Tell me that the guy I talked to today and the guy who takes these photos is anything like the one in the videos,” he says.

            Soonyoung looks at the photo with him. “Okay, I see what you’re saying. Well, you said he told you he has a persona for the camera, right?”

            “Yeah, but it’s more than that,” Seungkwan insists. “Something made him this way. Something made him start smoking, getting high all the time. The videos, THvC—it’s all an act. It’s a cover up. But I don’t know what for. Leaving college and… The fact that he wouldn’t answer those couple questions I told you about—he’s not…” He shakes his head and looks at Hansol over the star. “Something happened.”

            Soonyoung gazes softly at him. The Seungkwan he knows and loves chooses interesting moments to show deeper sides of himself, and this appears to be one of those times. “You are so very Seungkwan.”

            Seungkwan’s phone buzzes in his hand, and they both look at the notification: _thchwesol started following you._

            “Huh,” Soonyoung says. “Look at that.” Seungkwan doesn’t reply, or move. Without provocation, he’d sit there and look at it for three minutes before doing anything, so Soonyoung nudges him. “Go follow him back, hon.”

            Seungkwan blinks at the photo one more time and then scrolls to the top, tapping the follow button. What kind of step is this? Does this mean anything? Well, it can’t possibly mean more than what tonight will mean. He still hasn’t mentioned it.

            Soonyoung watches him, looks at Seungkwan’s face while he gazes at the profile. Seungkwan _is_ a confident, independent person. It’s part of the problem—he _needs_ nobody. His life, his career and everything will be fine whether he has a boyfriend or Soonyoung or anyone or not. After his parents left the country to go back to Korea, Soonyoung watched as Seungkwan matured dramatically and became extremely self-sufficient. It’s admirable, but it also makes him have a bit of a harder time, because while it’s obvious that Seungkwan _desires_ somebody desperately, because of his lack of need and awareness of that fact, plus his inherent stubbornness, it’s difficult for him to ever admit it.

            “Remember when I told you you’re a cat?” Soonyoung says.

            Seungkwan smiles a little and puts his phone away. “You said _you’re_ the cat, while I’m a knight.”

            Soonyoung smiles. “Yes. In shining armor. A few dents here and there, but.” Seungkwan pushes his leg, and he laughs. “I mean it, Kwannie. It’s what you do, so I get it. I know when there’s a problem like you seem to see here, you don’t stop until you’ve figured it out. And I can’t exactly say I’m mad about it this time around.”

            Seungkwan rolls his eyes, but he’s smiling. “I know. It’s really a detriment to my zen and flow.”

            Soonyoung chuckles. “Yeah, but it’s you. So what is it? What’s this thing with him?”

            Seungkwan looks at the rug on the floor because this is really it. There’s nothing else he can tell Soonyoung at this point. He speaks through the front of his mouth, barely pronouncing his words. “Umm…that’s the thing. I agreed to meet him tonight. At his apartment. We made a deal.”

            Soonyoung looks like he’s about to freak out again, drawing in a huge breath, but he decides to hold himself in, which Seungkwan is thankful for. “Oh, uh—okay.” He puts his hands on his thighs, tapping his fingers—some energy needing to be spent. “Wow, that’s—not what I expected. Okay. Wow, _okay_.”

            Seungkwan snorts. “Thank you for trying.”

            “So, what _is_ the deal?”

            Seungkwan looks sideways at the wall. “Uh…I’m supposed to be exchanging a shotgun for information.”

            Soonyoung’s every molecule freezes in space. In that one small fraction of a moment, Seungkwan tells himself to shutter his windows and get ready for the worst of the storm.

            “ _Seungkwan are you kidding me right now.”_

Unfortunately, no. “Not a joke.”

            Soonyoung yells and tackles Seungkwan, throwing them both onto the bed and engulfing him in a gigantic hug. Seungkwan’s face is shoved into Soonyoung’s bony shoulder, his nose squished against his collarbone. “Soon— _Soonyoung_. Let me die on my own terms.”

            “Boo Seungkwan!”

            “Let go please.”

            Soonyoung heaves out a breath and pulls Seungkwan up, steadying him by the shoulders, grinning at Seungkwan’s frown. “You’re walking in prepared to make out. It’s set to happen already. Oh. My god.”

            Seungkwan’s eyebrows give his nerves away. “It’s not—we’re not making out, it’s just…” Jesus. That’s exactly what they’re going to do. He’s pretty sure Soonyoung was right when he said Hansol is into him, which he’s just not sure how to deal with since no one is _ever_ into him. And he’s pretty sure that means Hansol doesn’t want to just blow smoke into his mouth. This will be the most thorough shotgun if there ever was one. Oh god.

            Soonyoung just looks at him like they won a shared lottery, eyes sparkling as much as the beads on his lamp. “You’re gonna make out with your young Hollywood star who’s freaking handsome as _heck_ , and then he’s gonna reveal his darkest secrets to you?” He pokes Seungkwan’s shoulder. “Sounds like a movie to me. You have to tell me what it’s like—kissing him.”

            Seungkwan pouts and pulls his knees to his chest, wrapping his arms around and putting his chin on them. For some reason, he says, “His lips are thin. Not exactly Seungcheol’s.”

            Soonyoung makes a face like that’s totally true. “Okay, you’re right. Seungcheol’s lips are pretty much perfect for everything. Like, _everything_.”

            Seungkwan looks grossed out and shoves him.

            Soonyoung giggles. “But it’ll be good. And you’ll be high so that—” He gasps like he only just realized it. “Oh my god, Kwan, _you’re gonna get high_. This guy managed to get you to do something I’ve been trying to get you to do forever with one small proposition? Damn his good looks. The power in that.” He clicks his tongue and shakes his head at the wall across the room.

            As if Soonyoung doesn’t have that power, albeit a little more valley girl. What are they even saying anymore anyway? _What does he think he’s doing?_ He groans and tips over into Soonyoung’s side. “Save me, Soonyoung. What have I done.”

            “Oh, you’re gonna be saved, Kwannie,” Soonyoung says. He wraps an arm around Seungkwan, squeezing him. “Tonight, you’ll be _enlightened_.”

            Seungkwan frowns again. “I thought enlightenment wasn’t a joke.”

            “Well, it has different definitions.” He pats Seungkwan’s head.

            Seungkwan just sighs. As he gazes around the room that’s so Soonyoung, everything seems quiet all of a sudden. He looks at the abstract light on the walls from the beads, phases of the moon, and the scent of lavender envelops him. “What am I going to do when you’re gone for a week?”

            Soonyoung laughs, gentle like the lavender. “You’ll relax after acing your finals, and when we get back we’ll just have some fun for a couple weeks until summer semester when you start two more classes and I start getting my real teaching hours.”

            Seungkwan sighs again. “I do a lot of school, huh?”

            “That’s who you are, Kwannie.”

            “And you do a lot of yoga.”

            Soonyoung laughs again. “Mhm.”

            Seungkwan takes a breath. “One day I’ll go on a trip like you guys.”

            Soonyoung pauses, touching Seungkwan’s hair. After a moment, he says, “This morning, Seungcheol brought me this gift, right?”

            Seungkwan hums a yes.

            “He also told me he’s in love with me.”

            Seungkwan sits up and makes big eyes at him. “Oh my god. Really?” Soonyoung smiles and nods. “What did you say?”

            “I said I’ve loved him for a while now, and that I really like him too.”

            Seungkwan hugs his best friend as tight as he can. “Soonyoung, that’s so great! I’m really happy for you.”

            “Me too.” When they lean back, Soonyoung puts his hands on his knees and scrunches up his shoulders. “ _Really_ happy.”

            Seungkwan tilts his head. “There’s a difference though? I mean, you’ve always liked him.”

            Soonyoung laughs softly again. “A big difference. You can like someone without loving them, or love someone without liking them. I like loving Seungcheol _and_ love liking him.”

            Seungkwan smiles. “Ahh.” He lays against Soonyoung again, leaning his head on his shoulder. “I love you guys together. I know I’m a pain but I really do. You’re perfect for each other and it’s been great watching you guys grow as a couple and…all that stuff.”

            “You’re still no good at sentiment,” Soonyoung says, and Seungkwan nods in agreement. Soonyoung chuckles. “But I still love you. And kinda like you.”

            Seungkwan laughs. “I kind of like you too.”

            “Do you like Hansol?”

            Seungkwan lifts his head to look at him. “I just met the guy— _after_ he exposed me to three hundred thousand people almost. How could I like him?” But he’s not good at lying either—or at least lying via questions he already knows the answer to. He’s aware of how attracted to Hansol he is, of how different and actually kind and sweet and sort of funny the real Hansol is, how sorry Hansol is, and how he does feel something for him already.

            But Soonyoung just smiles like he knows all that. “Well, I don’t know. Feelings are weird like that.”

            “Coming from someone with a perfect relationship,” Seungkwan says.

            Soonyoung blinks down at him. “Cheol and I really aren’t all that perfect, Seungkwan. Our stuff is just done in private because neither of us want you to see us not being, like, happy and good role models. We argue sometimes like any other couple, and we have things about each other that bother us or we wouldn’t do or whatever. But we really like each other—and love—so we see past it. That’s kind of what it’s about, right?”

            Seungkwan just leans his head on Soonyoung’s shoulder again.

            Soonyoung sighs and leans his head onto Seungkwan’s, wrapping his arm back around him. “Some feelings just are the way they are.”

            “Mm.” Seungkwan looks at the grapefruits on Soonyoung’s socks. “Well, I guess I kind of…”

            Soonyoung smiles. “I know. I can tell by his face who he is. I mean, I don’t know his big secret but I know he’s not those videos. And I joke about your type and what you need but…doesn’t he seem good?”

            Soonyoung really is attuned to everything. Even back when they first met, he called Seungkwan out on his sassiness being a partial front for some insecurities. It threw Seungkwan off, since Soonyoung was normally so happy and kind to him, (changes since—good, snarky ones), but then he understood that Soonyoung said it because he wanted to help. He just _seriously_ has never had any tact. Now, he seems to understand a lot about Hansol just from what Seungkwan told him and the way he looks. Maybe yogis can read personalities at a glance too. Chakra connection or auras or something.

            “I’m kind of excited,” Seungkwan admits.

            “Good. I’m glad you are. You need it.” He pokes Seungkwan’s side.

            Seungkwan clicks his tongue. “I haven’t kissed anyone in like, more than a year.” He’s actually only kissed two guys ever—junior and senior year. Neither was technically a boyfriend.

            “Don’t worry, Kwannie,” Soonyoung says. “Something tells me he won’t care.”

            “I’m nervous, too.”

            “You wouldn’t be Seungkwan if you weren’t.” He squeezes Seungkwan’s shoulder. “Just try to have a good time, okay?”

            “And get the information I’m going for.”

            Soonyoung smiles and shakes his head like that’s a very Seungkwan thing to say. Seungkwan feels their hair rubbing together and closes his eyes. “Sure, Kwannie. That too.”


	14. Hindsight

It’s just after four pm by the time Hansol steps off the elevator onto the fifth floor of Josh’s apartment building. He didn’t say he’d be dropping by, but after meeting Seungkwan in Starbucks, after what they decided on, he has to get some of it off his chest. He doesn’t know exactly how Josh will react—probably some mix of proud and cautious. Nobody looks out for him like Joshua does, so he’s preparing himself for whatever reaction Josh gives him, and will listen to it no matter what. He needs the advice after all this time.

            So…how long? Is he really doing this?

            He makes his way to apartment 5D and knocks.

            In a moment, Joshua pulls open the door. “Hey, we’re matching.”

            Hansol smiles at his friend’s joggers (Nike—lame) and plain grey T-shirt. “You look exhausted. Nobody here I’m interrupting?”

            Joshua laughs like it would actually be funny any other time. “I wish. Bro—finals crunch? What an ass whooping. I’m putting the finishing touches on my thesis now and I’ve still got studying to do.” He leans a palm on the doorframe and hooks a thumb over his shoulder. “Did you want to chill in the hallway or come in?”

            Hansol snorts and walks inside, taking off his shoes.

            Joshua’s apartment is a bachelor pad if Hansol ever saw one. One big open floor plan with spotless faux leather couches by a flat screen TV, sharp angles and grey tones, glass tables, cherrywood and white walls, and nothing that doesn’t need to be there. He even has real stone countertops instead of laminate, stainless steel appliances, and a bar counter with expensive-looking wooden stools where he treats his friends to mixed drinks during small get-togethers once in a while. Joshua’s family aren’t filthy rich Hollywood crowd, but his mom works in business and his dad owns multiple vineyards further north in the state. He comes from a very ninety-degree, suit-and-tie lifestyle, and still manages to be a super humble library ukulele Instagram beach guy.

            “Let’s take the bedroom,” Joshua says, leading Hansol through the living area.

            Hansol says in a breathy voice, “I thought you’d never ask.” When Josh throws him a horrified look over his shoulder, Hansol laughs and motions at the counter. “I see you’re working real hard.”

            Joshua picks up the half-drunk beer bottle as he walks, still sweating cool droplets, and waves Hansol along with it. “Leave me to my substances and you stay with yours. And no, you can’t have one. Come on.”

            Joshua’s bedroom is flawless form for function. Besides the door to the closet, there’s literally just a bed (queen—not lame) that’s perfectly made, a desk that’s tidy even though he’s in the middle of work, the chair, a dresser with perfect rectangles of clothes inside, a standing lamp just close enough to the bed so that you wouldn’t have to get up to turn it on or off, and another TV mounted on the wall which has a few saved music playlists among the regular channels and apps. Upon entering, it’s perfect and boring, and there is nothing in this room that warrants any further conversation, so for Josh’s typical bedroom guest, it works exactly as it’s supposed to. There actually is one decoration—a framed band list from the 2017 High Water Music Festival, a super indie gig in South Carolina that Josh has been to twice to see his favorite bands. Conversation starter, if it’s needed—probably afterward.

            Hansol jumps up onto the bed and lands face first, arms splayed. “This thing is still so freaking huge,” he says, muffled into the covers.

            Joshua chuckles, sitting down in the desk chair and crossing an ankle over one knee. “You say that probably seventy percent of the time you come here.”

            Hansol rolls onto his side, perching his head on his palm to look at his friend. “Well, I’m waiting for a downgrade. Maybe trade my full for this thing?”

            “Hansol, why are you here?” Joshua sips his beer.

            Hansol pauses. “Gee, thanks for the warm welcome.”

            Joshua lifts a brow at him. “We haven’t texted all day and suddenly here you are. You haven’t come here unexpectedly or unannounced since that one time at freaking midnight when—”

            “I was high, Josh, it was _one time_.”

            “So what’s up?” Joshua looks at him over his bottle as he takes another sip.

            Hansol sighs and drags his nail over Josh’s grey comforter. “Hmm. How do I begin?”

            Joshua closes his eyes and nods. “You guys talked. Good. In person?”

            Hansol nods. “Yeah. We messaged for a while and then we met at Starbucks just before this. I came here right afterward.”

            “Yeah? How did it go?”

            So he tells Joshua almost everything. He paraphrases the long message Seungkwan sent him, the conversation they texted to each other. He talks about their conversation in Starbucks, about how when he first saw Seungkwan there, the midday LA sun was coming through the window in a way that set Seungkwan’s brown hair ablaze and made it glow almost reddish, the strands sparkling at the tips. He talks about the questions they asked, and he only leaves out a few things—Seungkwan asking what he’s trying to get away from, Seungkwan understanding enough to see—but nothing too important. Josh nods to him as he talks, gazes calmly but intensely, taking a sip here and there while he listens. His bottle is quite depleted by the time Hansol stops just before mentioning the agreement to meet up tonight.

            Joshua puts his bottle on his desk and looks back at Hansol. He’s on the edge of the bed now—halfway through talking, he sat up and slung his legs over the side, started talking with his hands, started smiling at the things they said, detailing Seungkwan’s “really cute” facial expressions, “especially when he stuck his lips out”. Hansol’s eyes shine, and he’s still kicking his legs on the bed even after he’s stopped talking. Joshua remembers after that freshman mixer, more than a year ago, when Hansol did the same thing for a different name.

            “So it went well then,” he says, giving Hansol a smile.

            Hansol laughs. “Yeah. I’d say so.”

            “Well, that’s really great, Hansol. I’m proud of you.”

            Hansol feels a little bit of weight lift off his chest. He has Josh’s approval, so that’s half the battle, or at least a small part of it. For him, Joshua knows best, so he still wants advice about tonight.

            But for some reason, there’s one part of him that doesn’t want to tell Josh everything. He doesn’t want to tell him that he wants to tell _Seungkwan_ everything, that he’s going to be trading a chance to kiss Seungkwan for information that Seungkwan obviously craves—whether simply for the sake of knowing it or because it has to do with _him_ , Hansol wishes he knew. It’s not information he just tells people, and as the only other person who even knows about it—not even his own family—Josh might be against it for his sake, especially this early in the game. But it’s not some tactic to woo Seungkwan, or just a way to get Seungkwan into his room. For some other reason, he feels like he can trust Seungkwan. Plus, he really wants that kiss. Maybe he’s wooing himself.

            So this is _his_ decision, because he’s a whole grown ass man, or at least trying to be one. And for the whole video thing, he owes Seungkwan big time. And for possibly taking advantage of Seungkwan’s craving for knowledge… _huge_ time.

            “There’s one more thing,” he says, rubbing the fabric of his joggers between his thumb and finger. “We’re meeting tonight at my place. I…asked to shotgun him?”

            Joshua does something between a laugh and a sigh. “Jesus. You just went right in, huh. And he actually agreed?” Hansol nods. Joshua raises his eyebrows. “Wow. He seems pretty adamantly opposed to cannabis in general.”

            “I know. It’s…” Hansol scoots back onto the bed and crosses his legs. “It really surprised me too. I was ready to get slapped, honestly. And he would’ve if he wanted to.”

            Joshua hasn’t met Seungkwan, but he has read the comment Hansol showed him before, and he just heard from Hansol what Seungkwan is like—and it was even sugarcoated by Hansol’s obvious affection for the guy already. Seungkwan doesn’t seem like the kind of person to abandon his morals so easily or for no reason. There must be a trade-off. But Hansol is twenty, and he’s maturing quickly, and it’s been more than a year. Maybe it’s time that Joshua takes a step back.

            He just says, “Then I guess he didn’t.”

            Hansol pauses, thinking about that. “Guess not. I like him, Josh.”

            Joshua laughs softly. “I can tell.”

            Hansol scrunches his shoulders and drops them again. “He seems, like…good. You know? For me.”

            Joshua of course doesn’t know exactly what is good for Hansol, but what Hansol had before wasn’t it, no matter how good it seemed at the time. Maybe this—this completely opposite thing—is better suited. “Then I’m happy for you. I’m glad you’re meeting him again tonight.”

            Hansol smiles weirdly. “I’m really anxious.”

            “I know. That’s who you are, dude.” Joshua picks up his bottle again. “That’s okay. You can do it, and I’m really proud of you for suggesting you meet in person and for wanting to apologize like an adult.” He smiles. “You’re a really good guy, Hansol. I know that better than anyone. And I want good things for you, you know?” He takes a sip.

            Hansol just smiles and messes with the seam on one of his socks. “Thanks, man. For real. Any advice?”

            Joshua looks up, then shrugs one shoulder. “Not really. You’re a master at being someone else for the camera, but you’re also the best at being yourself, so I can’t really tell you to do that. I wouldn’t be THvC though.” He smiles at Hansol’s laugh. “I mean, I think you’ve got this, dude. I know how you’re feeling but I really think you’re gonna be just fine. Is this like, a getting together thing? For you guys?”

            What it _is_ is Hansol’s confession to someone he likes a lot, but Joshua doesn’t know that. So Hansol widens his eyes and shakes his head. “I have no idea what it is. The fact that he’s coming at all kind of blows me away and I’m actually super nervous. I don’t know how you pick up these girls all the time like it’s no big deal.”

            Joshua snorts. “Mildly offensive, but I forgive you. And I’m not _that_ good at it, Hansol.” Hansol gives him a dubious look, one eyebrow up. “I’m serious,” Joshua says. “And if you think I don’t get nervous, that’s only because you’re not there when I actually go up to a pretty girl. Consider the suave guy my equivalent of THvC. Sometimes we have to just put on a face to help us do something, to reach a goal. Not that girls are just goals but, you know what I mean.” He sips his beer again, almost empty. “I get butterflies and I mess up sometimes, and I have my fair share of rejections. It’s hard for anyone, I think. And besides—I didn’t go through what you did.”

            Hansol looks at him and starts chewing his lip. _That’s what I’m telling him. That was our deal. Josh…should I?_ His stomach feels weird. “I guess so.”

            “I don’t think you should have too many thoughts in your head,” Joshua tells him, and his voice always did have such a gentle quality to it. “He did say yes, and he didn’t slap you, and he didn’t just walk out or not agree to see you in the first place. All of that means something.”

            Hansol sits there for a while, taking it in. Josh is always right, and it’s no different now. But the difference between Josh and him isn’t so much confidence as tenacity. Hansol isn’t insecure, but he isn’t a go-getter like Josh is. That’s one of the reasons he’s so suited for YouTube—he has his exact niche, his exact audience, even his exact place he sits for every video. Nothing changes, and he doesn’t have to make a lot of effort for new things. But Josh does a ton of things, a jack of many trades who networks worthy of his family and has a jillion acquaintances to show for it. Those relationships and more intimate ones come easier to him than to Hansol because he works hard at it. And yeah, he may get rejected, but the biggest difference is that he lets the no answers roll off his back and he comes out unscathed, where Hansol…

            He draws in a breath. “When I first saw Jihoon, it was almost like we didn’t have a choice but to talk to each other.” Joshua looks at him, and Hansol smiles a little. “It was at that freshman party thing. I’ve told you before.” Joshua nods. Hansol looks down at the bed. “So I mean, there were other people—plenty of them. But we kind of looked at each other, and maybe this was me kidding myself but I had to talk to him. I had to.”

            Joshua tilts his head. “Do you feel that way now? With Seungkwan?”

            Hansol shrugs slowly. “I don’t know. I don’t even know if I knew it then with Jihoon. It’s all hindsight. Hindsight is why I…”

            Joshua leans forward in the chair and rests his elbows on his knees, holding the bottle loosely in his fingertips. “I know, Hansol.”

            Hansol looks up again at once, a terrified expression in his eyes. “Josh, what if—”

            “Don’t start that. Don’t go down there.”

            Hansol closes his mouth. Then he says, “I know.”

            Joshua looks at him and speaks firmly. “Don’t get into that headspace, man. I know hindsight sucks, but foresight is even worse because it’s all up here.” He shifts the bottle to one hand and points at his temple. “And up there, it’s fake. You can’t read his mind—you can’t predict what he’ll do or say or think or feel. You can’t ask yourself if things will end up the same this time. You can’t know. And you can’t give up because of that either, because then you’re just defeating yourself.”

            “I know.” He sighs and rubs the heels of his hands into his eyes. “God, I know. I just…” He slumps, letting his arms hang into his lap. “I just don’t want to break again.”

            Joshua smiles softly. “You never broke, Hansol. Sure, you got a little chipped, but it’s just weather. It goes away. And it comes back and it goes away again, and sometimes it’s really sunny and sometimes it’s rough. But that’s Hansol Vernon Chwe.” When Hansol just shakes his head, he says, “Hey.” Hansol looks up. “I know it’s been a long time. But he agreed to see you again. That’s all you need to know for now. Trust the flow.”

            Hansol nods and runs his hand through his hair. “I know I need to get over it.”

            “I didn’t say—”

            “But we’re both thinking it and I’m not _that_ dumb. I know.” He lets his hand flop down to his leg. “It’s just hard.”

            Joshua thinks for a long moment while Hansol is there, looking down, messing with his joggers. Maybe just one more step in. “I need to show you something.”

            Hansol looks at him again. Joshua nods, convincing himself, and turns to his laptop. Hansol watches him pull up Chrome and type something into Google. “What is it?”

            “I want you to know it,” Joshua says. “Especially now. But I want to know first that you’re okay to see it.”

            An article pulls onto the screen. Hansol isn’t angled enough to read it yet, but he has some kind of guess. “Is it about him?”

            Joshua sighs and turns to him. “Yeah. It is.” He looks, asking.

            Hansol kept his distance all this time. It’s not like it really made things any easier because the memories are all still there in his head, but pictures and news and songs aren’t really things he needs to be looking at or hearing about. A few simple questions here and there—Josh asking once in a while how he’s doing—are enough to keep him both mature and sane about it all. Already, this seems bigger than those things. But if Joshua is doing this, there has to be some kind of reason.

            God. Can he?

            “Okay. I’ll be okay.”

            Joshua unplugs his laptop and comes to sit next to Hansol, resting it on his legs.

            From Seoul, last week. Some pop culture source.

            _Prodigy Pairing: 21-year-old apprentice celebrity producer Lee Jihoon seen out with 19-year-old rising star Lee Chan, modern dancer._

            Is that why Joshua asked how Jihoon has been doing? How could Hansol not know…

            He doesn’t care about the words. He looks at the photo—not exactly the highest quality, but he’d know Jihoon anywhere, even from the back, even with red hair. Even with someone else’s arm about to wrap around his waist as he walks. Even as the person, this dancer, leans close as if he’s about to say something very important.

            His stomach feels _really_ weird.

            “Oh.”

            “Are you okay?” Joshua asks. Hansol says nothing. Joshua says, “I’m sorry.”

            Hansol just leans away from the screen. “Nothing to be sorry for, right? I’m happy for him.”

            Joshua closes his computer. “Hansol.”

            “I mean it. Of course I am.” He looks at Joshua. “I have to be.”

            “Hansol, listen to me.”

            Hansol just pulls his phone from his pocket, about to check the time, wondering if anything—if _everything_ was all one huge mistake. Maybe he’ll just go home. Stop by Wonwoo’s place on the way there. Call everything off. When he hits the home button on his phone, there’s a notification from twenty minutes ago, around when he was walking off the elevator and putting his phone back in his pocket. Instagram: _seungkwan_boos started following you._

            He blinks at it.

            “Dude,” Joshua says, looking at the phone screen too.

            Hansol says, “I didn’t think he would.”

            “Uh…” Joshua looks up at his friend. “Snap out of it?”

            Hansol blinks again, and then he laughs once at the screen, and then he laughs again and shuts it off. “Josh. Don’t hit me, but what the fuck.”

            Joshua can’t help but smile. “Dude, oh my god. Get out of here.”

            Hansol shoves his phone in his pocket. “One swear!”

            “No, dude, get _out_. Go home. Tidy shit up. You have company coming.”

            Hansol can’t stop smiling at him. He gets up from the bed and takes a few steps toward the doorway. “Thank you for showing me that. Seriously, man. That freaking hurts _so bad_ and I hate it. And—”

            “And he’s moved on,” Joshua says with a nod.

            “And so have I,” Hansol says. “Sort of. Maybe tomorrow or in a week. Heck. This is terrible.” He snorts a laugh. “But I have stuff to do tonight. Hey, can I call you later?”

            Joshua stands and holds his computer by his hip. “Only if you’re alone.”

            Hansol smiles big. “Shit. You’re right.” He puts a hand over his mouth. “Sorry.” He gets halfway through the doorframe, then catches it in one hand and turns back. “But really—I’ll call you?”

            Joshua smiles. “Go home, Hansol.”


	15. Downer

Seungkwan is on his third shirt by the time Hansol messages him just after seven. The first one, baby blue, was no good—better suited for Soonyoung. The second one, black with _c’est la vie_ in white italics ringing the bottom edge wasn’t it either—better suited for Seungcheol. He finally landed on this one—white with a few thin mustard stripes that he wore a few days ago but washed, and which makes him feel a bit of his own Easter egg insult. It’ll have to do.

            He turns from his mirror and reaches for his phone to open their conversation. Hansol sent his address, _above that Chinese place that’s really good_ , as if there aren’t fifty of those in the city.

            _seungkwan_boos: Okay. I’ll be there in half an hour._

_thchwesol: okay :)_

_thchwesol: oh and its kind of hard to see. text me when you get here if you can’t find it_

The effort Seungkwan is putting in for just a bit of information.

            He sighs and looks at the smiley face Hansol sent. Not one of the emojis but a plain text smile. Why does that make it seem so sincere? Probably because it is.

            _seungkwan_boos: :)_

He forces send, and then he wonders how Hansol is reacting to that. It makes his insides do a wiggle to think of Hansol grinning like he does, staring down at his phone screen, bathing in the feeling of that colon and parenthesis. It’s…cute.

            Seungkwan puts his phone in the pocket of his jeans and looks himself over one more time. He didn’t actually _need_ to change clothes, but he had on a button up and those uniform shorts earlier and he felt like he needed to be more casual, since Hansol will almost definitely be in the same shirt and joggers as earlier today, even though the pants are a day old and smell faintly like weed. His whole apartment probably smells like weed. What does it even matter—Seungkwan is going to be _smoking weed_. Jesus Christ. Maybe he really is a cat.

            He turns the light off in his bathroom and walks out, shoving his feet into old Vans. This is really it. He’s actually going to go to Hansol’s apartment and smoke with him. And not just smoke but _shotgun_. He’s going to kiss Hansol. Why is that the scariest part? Why is it even scarier that he actually _wants to_?

            He gets another message—two—but it’s his text tone instead. He pulls his phone out.

            _kwonsoon: good luck lovely [rose and crescent moon emojis]_

_kwonsoon: have a good time !_

            Emojis are only sincere from Soonyoung. For once, Seungkwan actually feels kind of soft over Soonyoung’s perfectly timed messages. He smiles and types back

            _Seungkwan: Thank you. I’ll try._ and the content-looking smile emoji.

            And then he reminds himself of Hansol’s address, then turns his ringer off for the night and puts his phone away. He takes one more deep breath, looking around his room for some last sense of familiarity, and he goes out his door.

 

By 7:40 when he arrives, the sun is two hands above the horizon. It’ll set not long from now.

            He steps out of his cab onto the sidewalk, looking at the windows of a Chinese restaurant with a name in complex characters he can’t read. The setting light casts a golden glow over the red letters, and Seungkwan squints as he looks up a floor at small windows that could be apartments if he knew for sure, but it just looks like a block of shops, restaurants, and space for rent. Maybe he _should_ message Hansol.

            “Hey!” comes a call from behind him.

            He turns, not sure if it’s for him or not, and sees a tall guy with a messy apron around his waist jogging across the street toward him. He hops up onto the sidewalk, and Seungkwan can see handsome features among his squinted eyes and the very beginnings of early crow’s feet. Is every Asian he meets good-looking or does he just think all boys are cute?

            The boy walks over to Seungkwan and puts his hands on his hips. “Are you looking for the apartments?”

            Seungkwan looks across the street where the guy came from at a homeless man sitting against the wall of a building, opening a pristine white styrofoam container of what looks to be pristine white rice. Clutched in his hand that’s removing the lid is a plastic spoon. Seungkwan looks up at the boy. “Oh. Yeah.”

            “Thinking of moving in? I’m Jun, I live here.” He sticks his hand out.

            Seungkwan shakes it. “I’m Seungkwan. And no, um. I’m looking for—” he picks out some word, “—my friend. Uh.” He looks at the windows again then back at Jun. “Apartment A four?”

            Jun tilts his head, putting his hand back on his hip. “Oh? You’re looking for Hansol?”

            Is that uncommon? Well, now that Seungkwan has met the actual Hansol, it doesn’t really seem like he’d have a ton of visitors besides Joshua maybe. Is that pride Seungkwan feels? “Yeah.”

            Jun just smiles and nods. “Cool. Well, if you go through that tiny door there,” he points, and Seungkwan only now sees the narrow wrought iron door tucked between the restaurant and the shop next to it. The numbers for the address blend in with the color of the paint on the building façade. “There’s a tiny staircase that’ll take you up,” Jun says. “Go to the second floor for A-hallway and hang a left, and he’ll be two doors down.”

            Seungkwan nods. “Okay. Thank you.”

            Jun smiles again. “Uh-huh. Have fun, Seungkwan. See you around again probably. If you get munchy, drop in.” He gives Seungkwan a nod that looks like he’s in on some secret and then walks back toward the restaurant.

            “Okay. Uh—nice meeting you?” Seungkwan calls, not meaning it to sound so confused.

            Jun waves at him before going through the door.

            Seungkwan looks at the restaurant for a moment before shaking his head and going to the door to the apartments. He pulls it open and pushes through the glass door behind it, stepping into an equally narrow staircase. He looks at the little mailbox with only eight slots, thinking how nice it must be to live in a place with only seven neighbors instead of a hundred ninety-nine like his dorm hall.

            He climbs the stairs and makes the left to find the door with the metal 4 on it. As he brings his hand up to knock, he finally gets it. Jun probably thought he was coming here to see Hansol for the purpose of something to do with weed—buying or smoking or whatever. Why does that have to be basically true.

            He knocks.

            Hansol opens the door with that smile on his face. “Seungkwan.” He says it in a breath, like he doesn’t quite believe it. He’s still wearing the same clothes.

            Seungkwan smiles a little. “Hi, Hansol.”

            “You changed outfits.”

            Seungkwan shifts on his feet and looks down at himself. “Oh—yeah.”

            “I like both,” Hansol says. “Um, come in?”

            Seungkwan likes that he asks it. “Yeah.” He follows Hansol inside.

            He looks around while he toes off his Vans. It’s nothing like Seungcheol’s apartment, but that’s to be expected. Everything’s kind of the same color—either white or tan, with regular furniture that probably came with the place. Off in the left corner, tucked near to the wall, is a little table, a stool next to it, a chair, and a tripod with what look like lights and a monitor—the place where Hansol must film his videos. The ceilings are a reasonable height instead of the vaulted anomalies in Seungcheol’s place. Everything is clean and looks totally functional, and Seungkwan notices that along with the cleanliness there’s tidiness—especially the kitchen. Maybe Hansol fixed everything up before Seungkwan arrived. The place seems like it was built a while ago, but it has a cozy feel to it—smallish, probably just the living space, attached kitchen, and the bedroom with what Seungkwan imagines will be a small bathroom. In LA, it makes perfect sense for one person, and the rent probably isn’t lofty, unlike Seungcheol’s rent that’s somewhere near a regular working person’s entire pay for a couple months (Soonyoung won’t tell him the full amount). And it’s bigger than his dormroom, which doesn’t even have a kitchen, so that’s automatically a plus. And it definitely smells like weed—but not overbearingly. Seungkwan isn’t offended by it, though he feels like he should be.

            “You’re tidy,” he says, and it comes out sounding like he’s surprised by the fact.

            Hansol does his half smile at him. “I’m not really. I just don’t have a lot of stuff. If I did, it wouldn’t be neat. I used to be a total impulse buyer, but I’ve put my money elsewhere these days.”

            Seungkwan lifts an eyebrow, looking at the little sofa as he walks by. “I can imagine.”

            Hansol laughs and turns to him, walking backwards. “Okay, it’s not _all_ weed. Promise. Yeah, that stuff’s kind of expensive but my guy is a friend since I moved here and I’m his favorite customer, so I get good deals a lot. And I promise it’s legal. He runs a legitimate shop farther south in the city. It’s called Lost Soul.”

            Seungkwan has a vague memory of that name from somewhere on Hansol’s Instagram as he wanders into the kitchen. It’s actually bigger than he thought—a decent portion of the entire main apartment—and pretty much spotless. Cabinets shut and clean, sink empty and dry without water stains anywhere, no dishes left out, nothing on the counters except for a rice cooker, a tiny coffee maker, and a knife block. He bets Hansol did some deep clean because he was coming. Right?

            And actually, those look like some expensive knives.

            “Sounds edgy,” Seungkwan says. “Did you clean before I got here?”

            Hansol looks worried. “Uh—I Swiffered the floor. Why? Is it dirty?”

            Seungkwan looks at him, trying not to laugh at how much his features and his eyebrows give away what he’s feeling. “No. It’s cleaner than my room.” He tilts his chin at the knife block. “How much were those?” He puts a hand out and adds, like he said before in Starbucks, “If you don’t mind me wondering.”

            Hansol smiles and practically runs over to the knives. It reminds Seungkwan of Soonyoung and his Bonsai. “Oh, these guys? Beautiful, right?” He pulls out a long stick of metal on a handle from the top of the block and holds it up like a child holding a balloon string. “Like, it’s even got a honing steel? Whack.” He laughs, and Seungkwan shakes his head at him. Hansol sheathes the sharpener and says, “These things cost my left leg.”

            _Well, you have nice legs, so—_ “Really?”

            Hansol looks a little pained for a second. “Yeah. They’re professional, Japanese made. They were…upwards of two thousand.”

            Seungkwan’s eyes get huge and he brings a hand to his chest. “Jesus.”

            “I know,” Hansol says, scrunching his nose. “But they were a big gift to myself. But, yeah—this is the kind of stuff a lot of my non-rent, non-electric-bill money goes to. Well, used to go to. I kind of built up my army over the first few months of my channel, and now I just get a new thing here and there.”

            Seungkwan looks at him funny. “So you spend all your money on knives?”

            Hansol laughs. “No, no. This.” He puts his arms out and motions at his kitchen. With the lights off and no windows for the sun to come through it’s not exactly a grand scene, but the soft hazy grey-blue feel of the air makes Hansol look subtle and light, like an artsy movie character.

            “The…kitchen?” Seungkwan asks.

            Hansol nods quickly. “Every cabinet is full to the brim. That one has my glassware—like, cups and jars and measuring things.” He points, and as he speaks his finger sends excited vectors out toward the different species of kitchen and cooking items he has amassed over time. “That one has bowls—so many bowls. That one has my muffin-slash-cupcake tins and other pans and sheets. That one has my cake moulds, plus my parchment and foil and stuff. Down there is my mixer and my food processor, which cost both my arms. And that pantry has way too many random other supplies.” He drops his arm and grins at Seungkwan. “Plus, like, food.”

            Seungkwan nods a bunch, because he’s trying hard not to react to Hansol acting like an excited kid showing off his action figure collection. It’s kind of adorable, and Seungkwan thinks it’s great that Hansol’s hobby other than all things weed is something that’s seemingly so odd for what he looks like and how he acts—at least on camera. He remembers all those pretty pictures of prettier baked goods on Hansol’s Instagram—that one that he follows now—and smiles just a little. The irony of a sweary anticapitalist stoner who makes pretty confectionery.

 _Yeah, except you’re really just Hansol_ , Seungkwan thinks. “That’s cool,” is all he can think to say.

            “Thanks,” Hansol says, and when Seungkwan looks at him again, his smile is totally genuine.

            Seungkwan rocks on his feet. “So…”

            Hansol blinks. “Oh, uh—bedroom’s this way. That’s where I keep my—my, uh.” He clears his throat.

            Seungkwan snorts. “Yeah. Just show me.”

            He follows Hansol into a room equally as tame. Full bed with grey sheets and a navy comforter (but an actual headboard, Seungkwan notes), the door leading to that predictably small bathroom with about 2% of the amount of products Seungkwan uses (aka just a cleanser, and how does Hansol have such nice skin then?), a metal clothing rack with what looks to be just about ten shirts and three pairs of pants, the world’s smallest dresser with only two drawers maybe two feet wide each, and the nightstand with a small lamp, a real digital alarm clock, and an empty white ceramic bowl. The decorations are barely even sparse: one paper poster held up by two thumbtacks that’s just yellow with a single bunch of bananas on it, and some shiny silver plaque sitting on top of the tiny dresser.

            As they walk in, Hansol rushes over to a shirt on the floor, balls it up, and chucks it into a wicker basket underneath the clothing rack. He turns around and smiles. “Sorry. Mess.”

            Hansol should see _his_ room, Seungkwan thinks, on a not uncommonly hot night when he gets home from campus or Soonyoung’s place at eleven pm—shoes, backpack, and clothes strewn about the floor in apathy. Plus all the random stuff sitting around on his nightstand or desk or the one shelf in his room, hanging from his organization pinboard or leaning against the wall on the floor. And Hansol calls _this_ a mess?

            “This is the furthest thing from messy,” Seungkwan says.

            Hansol looks around. “Well, I hardcore Swiffered.”

            Seungkwan laughs, then stops himself. “That’s—that’s good.”

            “Yeah.”

            “What’s that?” Seungkwan points at the silver thing on the dresser.

            Hansol motions at it with a lift of his hand. “Oh, that’s the plaque YouTube sent when I hit a hundred thousand subs. I forgot they even did those until it came in the mail.”

            Seungkwan nods. A pretty cool accomplishment, he figures. “Oh yeah. Cool. Congrats.”

            “Thanks.” They stand there for a moment, Hansol patting his hands on his thighs, Seungkwan just looking around. Hansol draws in a breath and says, “Well…do you want to sit down? You can…” He motions at his bed.

            This is his chance. This feels somehow like Seungkwan’s one time to say no, to change his mind and leave, hold fast to his morals and be good like he always is. But then he will never know, and he wants to know badly. He’s so curious about Hansol and the thing that he can see but can’t yet identify. If he leaves, the curiosity will eat at him, gnawing at his consciousness, and make him think constantly of Hansol. If he’s being honest with himself, he would probably be thinking constantly of Hansol no matter what.

            Maybe there isn’t really a choice at all.

            _Just try to have a good time, okay?_ _Good luck lovely._

Even if nothing comes of this, he can still at least try for once in his life. If that means breaking one rule, _one_ time, then so be it.

            He goes to Hansol’s bed and sits down, scooting back and sitting crisscross.

            Hansol smiles a little and sits facing him. “Right,” he says.

            Seungkwan nods back.

            Hansol clears his throat again. “So, I just wanted to…make an offer to redact the offer. Like, I mean—”

            “No.” Hansol looks at him with those pretty brown eyes. _Now_ there’s a window in the room—the one small indication of the apartments from the street—and the setting sun outside plays golden adagio notes on Hansol’s face, the angles of his cheekbones and his jaw, and makes his eyes sparkle. Soon, he will look just as perfect in the dim of LA night. “The deal is on,” Seungkwan says. And when Hansol just blinks at him, he smiles and says, “And you could have texted me that before I made it all the way here.”

            Hansol gets a faint pink blush on his cheeks, delicate shading in the sunset light. “Well, I.” He blinks for the right words. “I wanted to hang out with you.”

            Seungkwan only smiles and nods to him.

            Hansol closes his mouth. “Right. Yeah. Uh—” He looks around again as if this isn’t his own room. “So, do you want to just, uh, get to it?”

            “You want to smoke first, I’m guessing, right?” Seungkwan says.

            Hansol shrugs one shoulder, but looks down. “Well, we don’t _have_ to, but I was kind of…hoping.”

            _Because it’ll be easier for you then—after. When it doesn’t hurt as much._ “Okay.”

            “You sure?” Hansol asks.

            Seungkwan nods. “I’m sure, Hansol.”

            “Cool.” Hansol sighs like he’s trying to get nerves out. “This is crazy,” he says as he turns toward his bedside table and opens the drawer.

            Seungkwan hums, looking at the bit of midriff skin that shows itself when Hansol leans over. “You’re telling me.”

            Hansol turns back to him with a metal tin and a small manila envelope latched closed, and those same worried eyebrows. “We really don’t have to—”

            “Is that a whole tin of marijuana?”

            Hansol looks down at his hands. “Uh. Maybe.” He laughs, nervous again. “There used to be a rose-scented candle in it. Want to learn how to roll a joint?”

            Seungkwan forces himself not to laugh. He nods. “Sure.”

            Hansol smiles like he can see the laugh being held back, and his eyes glint in the light. “Sweet. Okay, so.” He puts the tin down between them and opens the clasp on the envelope, pulling out a piece of white paper, then tilting the envelope to tap out a little white tube. “This is rolling paper,” he says, holding it up and closing the envelope. “Which is why it’s a joint. A blunt is rolled in tobacco leaf, which honestly to me is a waste of time since you have to get the tobacco out first. And I was taught with rolling paper, so.”

            Seungkwan figures he’ll just nod at everything Hansol says. “Oh. I always thought joint and blunt were two words for the same thing.”

            “Honestly, pretty much. They have exactly the same purpose. A blunt is just technically a cigar form, even though they’re basically the same size,” Hansol says.

            “Who taught you?” Seungkwan asks.

            Hansol picks up the tin in both hands and squeezes it. “Um…that’s later.”

            Oh. Seungkwan nods. “Okay. Sorry.”

            Hansol frowns at him. “No, don’t be. It’s me being…” He trails off and looks at the tin, then holds it up. “Well, anyway. This stuff—” He pops the lid off and holds it out for Seungkwan to look at. “Is Jules Vernon,” he says, half smiling.

            It looks just like the photos of loose cannabis Seungkwan has seen on the internet. He just nods again. “Okay. Cool name.”

            “It’s named after me.” A big, proud smile.

            Seungkwan lifts an eyebrow. “Congrats?”

            Hansol snorts. “Yeah, my guy Wonwoo used to call it Jules Verne, but I buy so much that…” He looks down. “Well, yeah, you get it. Now that I say it out loud to someone it seems a little.” He tilts his head back and forth.

            Seungkwan does laugh this time. He finds he’s becoming less and less offended by the stuff, at least in Hansol’s hands, by the minute. “Continue.”

            “Right. Okay. So, this is a crutch.” He holds up the white tube in two fingers. “It basically just holds the shape of the paper for me and makes wrapping easier.” He points at the cannabis. “I ground my Vernon already, so I’m just going to take some and literally just dump it strategically into the paper.”

            Seungkwan watches him wrap the paper under the crutch and hold it in a little boat. He takes out pinches of the cannabis and lays them next to each other in the paper, poking them into a line.

            “And then I just pack the bud into the shape I want—pinners are greater than cones—and then roll, tuck, and seal.”

            He’s focused, with his eyebrows down a little, and holding the joint close to him. His fingers work with some kind of deftness, surprisingly gentle, and it’s actually kind of impressive—not that Seungkwan would know anything about it. He looks practiced, which is _not_ a surprise, but it’s methodical and a stepwise process, and Seungkwan at least admires the effort and precision put into it all. And Hansol still has great hands.

            “How many would you say you’ve rolled?” Seungkwan asks.

            Hansol pauses and looks up at him with his eyes. “Uhh…”

            Seungkwan smiles and nudges Hansol’s knee with his toe, which he really wasn’t planning on but it happened. Hansol grins at him, and Seungkwan notices that his hands still work the joint perfectly, not a single leaf spilling, even though Hansol isn’t looking. Hundreds, probably.

            In another moment, the joint is sealed with a lick and Hansol is eyeing the far end of it. He hums. “Full enough. If I wanted to add more it’s called muzzle loading, but this looks good. I don’t anticipate it taking much for you.”

            Seungkwan nudges him again. “Don’t underestimate me.”

            Hansol grins at him again. “Hey, even my first time only took around five or six hits. In fifteen minutes I was slapped.”

            “Oh god,” Seungkwan says, looking at the little harmless-appearing white thing in Hansol’s fingers. Is he really?

            Hansol chuckles. “You’ll be great.” He twists off the end, and it feels to Seungkwan like his true final, tiny chance was just sealed away with it.

            Seungkwan sighs. “I’m barely ready, but let’s…” He looks into Hansol’s eyes like he’ll find some comfort there. Somehow, it feels like he does.

            Hansol smiles softly. “I will throw this in the trash right now if you’re totally against it.”

            “I am,” Seungkwan says. “But for some reason I’m still doing it anyway.”

            Hansol’s head tilts the smallest bit. “You really are curious.”

            Seungkwan shakes his head. “Tell me about it.” He scoots forward a little to get a bit closer, and Hansol pushes the tin and envelope off to the side. Seungkwan awkwardly swivels his legs to get onto his knees and puts his hands on his thighs like an obedient first grader. His heart is running mad all of a sudden and he presses his fingertips into his jeans. “So, um…”

            Hansol reaches into his pocket and pulls out his lighter.

            Seungkwan laughs once by accident. “You keep it on you?”

            Hansol looks at it. “Oh—yeah. Josh gave it to me.” He holds it out and Seungkwan takes it.

            “It’s actually kind of pretty,” he says, rubbing the pad of his thumb over the engraved HVC. “Copperplate.”

            Hansol smiles and nods quickly. “Yeah! That’s what he said. It’s probably my favorite gift he’s ever given me, and he’s a solid gifter.”

            Seungkwan hands it back. “That’s cool. I feel like I’m stalling.”

            “I feel like I am too.”

            Seungkwan laughs a little. “I’m actually nervous.”

            “It’s no big deal,” Hansol says. “Really. I think you’ll be fine. And I’ve met people who aren’t fine, so. But I don’t think you’ll be an idiot and inhale the whole thing in one go like I pretty much did.”

            Seungkwan smiles and looks at his knees. “More likely that I’ll barely get anything.”

            “Have you ever smoked before? Like, anything at all?”

            Seungkwan just looks at him.

            Hansol nods. “Right—dumb question. Okay, so just.” He holds up the joint and talks with his hands. “You’ll want to draw lightly. It’ll be hot and kind of gross and it won’t feel amazing, so just take in a smooth breath. Draw in from your chest instead of sucking from the mouth cause it’ll just, like, pool behind your teeth that way and it’s not cool.”

            Seungkwan tries not to grimace too hard. “All right.”

            Hansol sits there with his hands out for a moment and then says, “Here. Let me first.” He flicks open his lighter and Seungkwan watches the tip of the joint sizzle. He draws in a little puff and blows to the side. “Okay. Um…do you mind if I…?” He reaches for Seungkwan’s hand.

            “Oh.” Seungkwan awkwardly lifts his hand and Hansol takes his wrist, bringing Seungkwan’s palm to his chest. Seungkwan scoots forward a little more until his knees are practically touching Hansol’s crossed legs. Hansol’s chest is taut and solid. Great.

            Hansol smiles at him a little. “Feel where I take it in, okay? Not too low in your diaphragm, but not too shallow up in your throat either. Right in the middle. Here.”

            He places his hand over Seungkwan’s and pulls it down a little, just above his solar plexus. _Intellect, clarity of judgement, and self-discipline,_ Soonyoung said about the chakra at that place, holding both hands over it while he sat in full lotus on his purple yoga mat on Seungkwan’s floor. _But also personality, confidence, and independence. The chakra of powerful emotions and self-awareness._ Soonyoung would probably tell him that this is some kind of symbolic coincidence telling him that it’s time for him to take charge of himself in the situation and make the decision to go on with confidence. That doesn’t help how nervous he feels about what he’s about to do and about being this close to Hansol with his hand over his chest.

            He just nods and says, “Okay.”

            “Okay,” Hansol replies. He doesn’t take his hand away from holding Seungkwan’s against his chest as he brings the joint to his lips and draws. Seungkwan looks at his mouth, and the way his jaw looks—kind of like in the videos but even better in person. In his palm, he feels the slow rise of Hansol’s chest, light pressure against his skin, and maybe he’s mistaken but pressure on the back of his hand too, where Hansol’s hand squeezes just a little bit. Hansol’s eyes slip closed and he holds the breath in for a moment before sighing it out, careful not to send it directly at Seungkwan. The smell is immediate—that deep earthy scent that doesn’t actually bother Seungkwan that much—though much stronger than the remnants of past breaths on Hansol’s clothes. Seungkwan wonders if it tastes like that too. He wonders if Hansol tastes like that, then puts that thought to the side.

            “I feel it,” he says. Hansol lets him take his hand away from his chest.

            Hansol smiles at him, and he looks so calm in the low light. “Good. It can be hard to be easy with it, but I think you’ll get it.”

            Seungkwan looks at the joint and sighs. The time for him to be unbelieving that he’s doing this is over. He’s here, the joint is lit, Hansol took the first hit, and the deal is on. He reaches for the joint, saying, “Here goes.”

            But Hansol pulls his hand away—an awkward twitch back. “Wait—um.” Seungkwan looks at him. Hansol makes a weird nervous smile. “Sorry. Um…so can I ask you something really quick? Or, tell you something and then ask?”

            “Oh. Sure.”

            Hansol smiles and looks at the bed, bringing his free hand to the back of his hair and rubbing. “Cool. So…I kind of like you.”

            Yeah, that wasn’t obvious before. Seungkwan laughs, but at the same time his heart is fluttering. He tries to tell himself it’s mostly nerves. “I know, Hansol.”

            Hansol laughs nervously again. “Yeah. Um—well, do you like me too? I sound like a freaking second grader.”

            Seungkwan smiles at the thought: _Only third grade left and we’ve completed elementary. I guess my crush kind of feels like middle school, huh?_ “Hansol, I wouldn’t be here if I didn’t sort of—” He cuts off. It’s been a really long time since he’s said this to anyone, and the two times he ever has—sixth grade and freshman year—he was rejected right away. But Soonyoung’s finger is there nudging him forward again, and his soothing yoga voice says in Seungkwan’s mind, _He already likes you, lovely. Go for it._ So he swallows and forces it out. “Um—sort of like you. Too. A little.”

            Hansol releases a big sigh of relief, which makes Seungkwan more relieved than Hansol could ever know. “Really?” Hansol says. “Okay. Yeah, sweet. Um.” He looks at the joint again. “So, I mean, I don’t wanna be that guy again but—if you, like, when you’re high—just because, you know, we all react differently to this stuff. If you…come on to me…” His eyes flick up to Seungkwan’s and quickly away again. “Uh, can I take that as a yes, or? Like, I’m not going to try anything even though I want—I mean, wait.” He smacks a hand to one eye, dragging his face. “God, please don’t kill me, I don’t mean anything by this. I’m trying to be like, political and respectful since frick knows I wasn’t before with the whole comment thing. But like, if you _did_ want to then I just want to know that it’s okay to, like—” His expression becomes the most worried Seungkwan has ever seen it—terrified even. “Okay just kick me out of my own apartment.”

            Seungkwan breaks into laughter, curling forward and bringing a hand to his mouth. “Hansol, you’re—” He just laughs, and when he sits up he shakes his head at Hansol and plucks the joint from his fingers. Hansol watches it go, eyes huge and ears blazing red with embarrassment, then looks into Seungkwan’s eyes. “Just give me the stupid thing,” Seungkwan says, giggling. “I wouldn’t be doing any of this at all if anything was a no anymore. _Just_ —” he says, putting an easing hand up as Hansol’s face lights up too quickly. “Just, chill out if I’m being weird about it, okay? Use some better judgement first. Psychologically I can’t really say that _I’ll_ say anything that I’m…not already thinking.” God. He really does like Hansol. When did that happen? “At least subconsciously,” he adds, quieter.

            Hansol looks like he understands. “Ahh—like Freud, eh?” He smiles.

            Seungkwan looks at him.

            Hansol shuts his mouth and nods. “Of course. I will. I promise. If you seem too out of it, I’ll—” He puts his hands up in surrender like he did when they met before. “I’ll back off. I’m not a weirdo, I promise.” His hands lower slowly. “So…”

            “So yes,” Seungkwan says, and he brings the joint to his lips and breathes in before he can think any more. The heat pours back into his throat and his face scrunches up. He coughs a few times, small puffs of smoke rushing past the hand covering his mouth, and Hansol places a hand on his knee.

            “Whoa. You really just.” Hansol looks intently into his face. “You okay?”

            Seungkwan swallows down a weird-feeling throat and clicks his tongue, eyeing the joint. “How do people find this pleasant?” he croaks out.

            Hansol laughs. “You get used to it. You didn’t do too bad, though. That was a normal reaction.”

            Seungkwan clears his throat. “Is that enough?”

            “To get you high?” Seungkwan nods. “Probably not,” Hansol says. When Seungkwan pouts his lips out, Hansol smiles. “You don’t have to keep going if you don’t want to.”

            “No. The deal is freaking on,” Seungkwan says, then mutters, “And I’m already too far into this anyway.” He brings the joint back up and draws again, focusing on that spot in his chest where he’s confident and intelligent. Yes—this is such an intelligent thing he’s doing. It better be one good story.

            He fights the urge to cough this time, holding the smoke down for what feels like forever but is probably only two seconds, then heaves it out. Hansol laughs and waves his hand between them. “Sorry,” Seungkwan says.

            Hansol smiles and takes the joint. “No worries. Not like I’m not breathing it on purpose anyway.” He drags. “How do you feel?”

            Seungkwan shrugs, blinking around the room. “Regular. With a trachea that’s wondering what the heck I’m doing.”

            Hansol snorts. “Yep. I remember that exact feeling.”

            Hansol hands the joint over, and without hesitating Seungkwan takes it and has another pull. “Otherwise, I don’t feel…” He stops. He looks at Hansol, and there are beautiful sparkles in his eyes. His eyelashes are so _long_.

            “What is it?” Hansol says.

            Seungkwan keeps staring at those little twinkles in the brown of Hansol’s irises, a new one winking into existence with each second. “How quick is this usually?”

            Hansol hums. “Jules Vernon? Anywhere from ten to half an hour. Why?”

            When Hansol blinks, the stars float around his pupils. “Cause that’s not…” He brings his fingers up and rubs at his own eyes before staring back into Hansol’s. Sparkly. So sparkly.

            “Maybe it’s because you’ve been otherwise pure until now,” Hansol says with curiosity in his voice. He reaches for the joint, but Seungkwan makes a noise and keeps it from him, coveting it towards his chest. “You’re staring, Kwannie.”

            Seungkwan draws one more time, looking at Hansol’s eyes. He barely feels the discomfort anymore—just the warmth of the smoke going in and out with his breath. “You have really pretty eyes.”

            “Thank you. So do you.” Hansol reaches for the joint again and takes it this time. He leans over and drops it in the ceramic bowl. “Maybe you’re kind of loopy.”

            Seungkwan shakes his head. “That’s the thing. I feel perfectly normal, but it’s just your _eyes_.” His hands come up and touch Hansol’s face, the tips of his fingers brushing across the tops of his cheekbones.

            Hansol laughs softly. “You sure you don’t feel any different?”

            Seungkwan shrugs. “I feel fine.”

            Hansol grins and closes his eyes while Seungkwan’s fingertips dust over his lids and lashes. “Define ‘downer’ for me, Seungkwan. In your best psychological terms.”

            “Downer,” Seungkwan says, mapping Hansol’s face. “Any depressant, inhibitory drug. Benzodiazepines, barbiturates. Xanax to Lunesta. At any dosage, this class suppresses the nervous system—many side effects from muscle relaxation to slowing of pulse rate and lower blood pressure to visual disturbances, and further.”

            “And in the case of THC, ironically,” Hansol says quietly.

            “Release of inhibition,” Seungkwan breathes out. His hands come to rest on Hansol’s cheeks. “Hansol, I think I’m high.”

            “I think you are too.”

            “You were right. That was really fast.” The sparkles are so pretty. Hansol is so handsome. Seungkwan feels _lovely_. “I’ve wanted to kiss you since we met for coffee and you bought me a grande without asking.”

            “I’ve wanted to kiss you since I saw that profile picture you have for YouTube,” Hansol says. “And I’m still really sorry about that.”

            Seungkwan moves forward. The lights in Hansol’s eyes dance as they widen, and Seungkwan can focus on nothing else but the way Hansol looks in each consecutive moment, like flashes from a camera shutter, pieces of time.

            His hands are still on Hansol’s face, but now, somehow, he’s in Hansol’s lap.

            “Whoa. Seungkwan.” His hands go to Seungkwan’s waist.

            _That_ is something Seungkwan has wanted forever, always watching Seungcheol’s hands rest on Soonyoung’s waist, his thighs, his anything. And he didn’t even have to ask—Hansol just did it. Seungkwan’s thoughts are only partially clear, but he understands that much. Hansol actually _wants to_.

            “You’re the most handsome guy I have ever seen,” Seungkwan says, looking down into Hansol’s face. “What are you doing liking me?” He speaks softly, like anything outside of this room might hear them. For Seungkwan, this is their moment.

            “Are you kidding?” Hansol replies, matching the hushed tone. His pupils are dilated and the sparkles have become swaths of liquid glitter, waves of light in the thin colored lines of his irises. Seungkwan watches them too closely. “What are _you_ doing liking _me_? I’m everything wrong.”

            “I’ve been doing things right for a long time and look where it got me.”

            “It got you to be an accomplished, incredible person.” His hands squeeze into Seungkwan’s waist, and Seungkwan draws in a quick gasp. “And you are so completely gorgeous.”

            Seungkwan pushes forward to kiss him. Hansol meets it, locking their mouths together in a kiss a little rougher than Seungkwan expected. For a while it’s all they do, open-mouthed but without tongue. Seungkwan wraps his arms over Hansol’s shoulders, and eventually Hansol’s hands find their way into Seungkwan’s back pockets, pulling. When Seungkwan smiles, he feels Hansol do so too. His lips feel like the glitter in Hansol’s eyes—tingly and bright like tiny bubbles in champagne. Seungkwan has only kissed two people ever, neither of them the crushes who rejected him before, so _this_ is…

            “Hansol,” he says, taking a few breaths.

            “I can’t believe you didn’t throw your drink on me when we met,” Hansol says, keeping his hold in Seungkwan’s pockets. “I can’t believe you didn’t tell me off and storm out of there because that’s exactly what I deserved and you could have done all of that. I can’t believe you’re giving me a chance.”

            “I had to, Hansol,” Seungkwan says. “I didn’t know it but when I saw you, I felt like I had to talk to you. I tried to tell myself all these different things, that I _should_ storm off and leave you there, but I couldn’t. I had to. I’m such an obstacle to myself. I can’t believe you’re open to me.”

            “What’s wrong with us?” Hansol says, smiling up at him. “We perceive all this mess around us, but it’s all inside.”

            Seungkwan squeezes his eyes shut and nods. “Yes. Soonyoung doesn’t understand. It isn’t all diamonds and tie dye.”

            “And courage and easy relationships.”

            “Things are _hard_.”

            They look at each other in the silence between them. Hansol’s hands slip out of Seungkwan’s pockets and rest on his hips instead. He says, “Everything.”

            Seungkwan rests his forehead on Hansol’s and closes his eyes to the brief feeling of Hansol rubbing his lower back.

            “Hey, Kwannie?”

            “Hm?” Seungkwan asks, keeping his eyes closed.

            “There’s something we have to do.”

            When he feels one of Hansol’s hands leave him, Seungkwan opens his eyes. Hansol turns around and picks up the joint from the little bowl, and Seungkwan remembers. He smiles. “You have to teach me how.”

            Hansol looks up at him again with gentle eyes, still golden with dreamy, imaginary light. “I’ll take the hit, and then you have to get really close, okay? Right away, as close as you can. Like we’re going to kiss but not _quite_ there.”

            “And then?” Seungkwan asks.

            Hansol’s hand slides from his hip to his thigh and gives a small squeeze. “You breathe me in.”

            Seungkwan’s heart flutters again, and he nods in answer.

            Hansol brings the joint, end still faintly burning, back to his lips. He draws in a deep breath then turns and drops it back on the nightstand. When he comes back around, Seungkwan leans close to him, parting his lips, and when he feels the faint brush of Hansol’s lips against his, he breathes in. He can vaguely taste the smoke as he feels it pulling into him, and everything has such a tactile yet auric quality to it, like he’s sensing just a little more than what’s actually there. When he kisses Hansol again, the pressure feels pronounced one moment and subtle the next, like they can’t decide whether to be as close as they can or to hold back just a little bit, saving part of what they have for some other undetermined time.

            His hands go into Hansol’s hair and he breathes out in a long sigh. “Oh my god.”

            Hansol puts both hands on Seungkwan’s thighs, shaking his head as if in disbelief. “I don’t know what to say. Are you…doing okay?”

            Seungkwan reaches for the waistband of Hansol’s joggers.

            Hansol looks down. “Kwannie, what are you—”

            “I want to.” He gets his fingers tucked in before Hansol takes his hands gently away.

            “Maybe you’re a little too up there?” Hansol says, holding their hands up between them.

            Seungkwan looks at him, conveying as well as he can that he’s with it. Yes, he’s high, but he knows what he’s doing. “I’m not, Hansol. Let me.”

            Hansol frowns a little, more confused than anything, as if the idea of Seungkwan wanting to do that is foreign to him. “But why?”

            Seungkwan sighs. “Because I like you, Hansol, and…it’s not about what it is. It’s…” He tilts his head a little. “Don’t you want me to?”

            Hansol looks up into his eyes. “I mean, of course I want…really anything from you.”

            Seungkwan dovetails their fingers. “Then just relax.”

            Hansol looks at their interlocked hands in awe. “Are you sure? Do you want me to, like, also—”

            “Hansol.” Seungkwan brings his left hand to Hansol’s face, caressing his thumb light along his skin. “You’re not high, are you?”

            Hansol visibly swallows. “No. Not really.”

            “So then, it’s fine. Just let me show you.”

            After a long moment of staring at Seungkwan, Hansol says, as if he already knows the answer, “Show me what?”

            Seungkwan squeezes his hand. “That things are still good sober.”

            Hansol can’t answer. Seungkwan leans close to him again, as if they’re repeating what they just did but without the smoke, without the drugs. Their lips brush together, and Seungkwan waits another moment before pressing forward, very gentle. Their lips meet, more shy and nervous than before, and this time it feels like a real first kiss—the chaste, close-mouthed kiss of two people who have known each other for a long time and who are only now realizing what it could be. Seungkwan keeps their lips pressed together and gives Hansol’s hand another squeeze before letting go, bringing his hand down between them again.

            Hansol’s right hand is on his waist and his left goes to his thigh, and both clench in at the same time when Hansol lets out a small moan against Seungkwan’s lips. As Seungkwan moves his hand, Hansol opens his mouth, deepening the kiss. Hansol’s tongue tastes like that smell Seungkwan knows him by—rich, earthy—and a little minty, which makes Seungkwan smile again.

            Hansol lets out another short _ah_ and his hips twitch under Seungkwan’s legs. He hisses in a breath and says, “This is…”

            “Absolutely,” Seungkwan agrees. By far the craziest thing he’s ever done in his straight-A student, perfect son, pure, boring lifetime. It all feels so good.

            “How is it? The high?” Hansol asks. His voice is shaky.

            “I like it,” Seungkwan says.

            “Do you?”

            “Mhm.” He watches Hansol’s face as he works him. “I’ll never do it again.”

            Hansol laughs, but it cuts off with another tightening of his fingers on Seungkwan’s thigh. “I—I understand. Thank you for this one time.”

            Seungkwan hushes him as he leans back in to kiss him again. Some time goes by before Hansol can’t kiss him any longer and his arms wrap around Seungkwan’s lower back, tugging him. He’s hushed when he finishes, his head falling under Seungkwan’s chin to rest against his chest, breathing hard. Seungkwan runs his fingers through his hair and pets him gently as they both start to come down from different places.

            Seungkwan takes his hand away and Hansol leans back, looking up at him. Seungkwan smiles at his flushed cheeks and the way his lips are parted as he catches his breath, and how sad his eyes look, big and droopy and a beautiful, normal brown.

            “Good,” Seungkwan says.

            Hansol swallows again. “I…” He blinks and looks at Seungkwan’s hand that isn’t in his hair. “Oh. Here. Anywhere.” He takes Seungkwan’s wrist and it ends up on the joggers.

            Seungkwan just laughs softly.

            “Seungkwan, are you sure you don’t want me to—”

            “It’s fine, Hansol.” Seungkwan smiles at him, petting his hair back from his forehead. “Really. How do you feel?”

            Hansol answers without a moment’s hesitation in one soft breath. “I feel high.”

            Seungkwan tilts his head, brushing his fingers back through Hansol’s hair one more time before holding his hand there. He smiles. “Don’t you understand then?”

            Hansol tilts his chin up to kiss him.


	16. Try Again

Seungkwan is sprawled on the bed twenty minutes later, looking at Hansol’s legs as he walks out of his bathroom, flicking off the light to put them back into their 8:30 pm dim.

            Hansol smiles over at him. “What?”

            “Your legs are unreal.”

            Hansol laughs as he goes to his clothing rack. “I know they’re weird.”

            “They’re great,” Seungkwan says. His high has faded down into him just feeling fuzzy and soft and totally lovely. He could sink halfway into the mattress and he probably wouldn’t notice. He’s always been adamant about the addictive power of drugs, and this just confirms it tenfold. He won’t touch one leaf of marijuana for the rest of his life. But does he regret it?

            He smiles while Hansol pulls a clean pair of pants off a hanger—the same grey sweats as before—to replace the dirty joggers. “I recognize those. From your video.”

            “Yeah? The one where I messed everything up? Or…” Hansol gazes over at Seungkwan there on his bed, in his room, after they just made out and Seungkwan ran his fingers through his hair for longer than he knows. The little wrinkles in the sheets where they sat and Seungkwan’s fingers tapping little patterns into them. The outcome of everything, butterflied, from one video about brownies. “Maybe I didn’t,” he says.

            Seungkwan snorts. “Shut up.”

            Hansol grins and hooks his thumbs into his joggers, then seems to remember Seungkwan is there and pinks at his cheeks. “Don’t stare.”

            Seungkwan makes a face at him and laughs. “I just jerked you off, Hansol, really?”

            He clicks his tongue and looks down at himself. “Still…”

            Seungkwan shakes his head at him. He sighs and rolls onto his back, closing his eyes. He can hear Hansol shuffling out of his joggers and underwear, balling them up and throwing them into the wicker basket. He considers opening his eyes to peek without Hansol knowing—honestly just for the legs if anything—but he thinks maybe he’ll save it for later. Which is a crazy thought in itself, he thinks as he smiles up at the ceiling, because it implies both that he really wants to see, and that he wants there to be a later.

            “You looked!” Hansol exclaims.

            Seungkwan opens his eyes to Hansol tugging his shirt down farther than it’ll stay. Other than the poor combination of mismatching greys, the sweats still look really great on him. “I didn’t.”

            “You’re smiling,” Hansol says like it’s proof.

            Seungkwan smiles more. “Yeah. I was just thinking.”

            Hansol makes a quick face like he doesn’t believe it. “I bet that class taught you _how_ to lie and deceive, too.”

            Seungkwan laughs softly. “Doesn’t mean I’m good at it. I didn’t. Promise.”

            Hansol acquiesces, and smiles as he comes over to climb up to the bed. He lies on his side next to Seungkwan, propping up his elbow to put his head in his hand.

            Seungkwan yawns and rolls onto his stomach next to him. “I’m tired.”

            “Happens to me too sometimes,” Hansol says. “The mellow out is my favorite part.”

            Seungkwan brings his arms up and pillows his head on them. “I really should have been studying for finals. I can’t believe I did this.”

            Hansol chuckles. “I love how you mention it now.”

            Seungkwan smiles, drowsy, and lets his eyes close. He almost flinches out of surprise when he feels Hansol’s hand touch his lower back, pushing up the very edge of his shirt to get to him. Hansol starts drawing little lines there, delicate touches on sensitive skin. Seungkwan blinks his eyes open to look at him.

            “For my three hundred K, I wanna do something crazy,” Hansol says.

            “Like what?” Hansol’s fingertips are soft, like mini marshmallows doing ice skating routines on his back, but warm. How long has he wanted something like this?

            “I don’t know.” Hansol shrugs. “Maybe a croquembouche or something?”

            Seungkwan wants to move his legs, but the risk of Hansol removing his hand is too great. He’d rather stay here like this for an hour than lose that. “What’s that?”

            “It’s basically a huge tower of choux pastries,” Hansol says. “Cone shaped, with spun caramel sugar all around it like a really dainty web. It’s really pretty actually. But super technical, and I’ve never tried it before. I’d like to do a, you know,” he does his sideways smile, “a special caramel, with regular pastry and like, live stream me attempting to build the tower. My channel is so much baking these days, it’s weird I still get regular new followers.”

            Seungkwan laughs. “Well, you always have that element in it, right?”

            “The weed part?” Seungkwan hums a yes. “True,” Hansol says. “And if I was on some chronic while trying to make the thing, it would be a show.” He pauses and shrugs again. “But I don’t know, I’ll probably just go it sober. And who knows—maybe stoners get like, visual munchies too.”

            Seungkwan raises his eyebrows. “That’d make a great research topic. And I think your idea is cool, even though I don’t know what that French word and its pastry form is.”

            Hansol chuckles. “Thanks. Can I ask you something?”

            “Mhm.”

            “Why did you comment anyway? How did you like, find me?”

            Seungkwan sighs, thinking back to it. Why does it feel like that was months ago when it was only a few days? “A mix of frustration, exhaustion, and self-righteousness. I found your video looking for a brownie recipe for Soonyoung’s birthday party. He doesn’t like cake.”

            Hansol frowns. “I feel a little personally offended. Who doesn’t like cake?”

            A soft smile spreads onto Seungkwan’s lips. Soonyoung is absolutely insane and such a weird, archetypal yet eccentric in his own right kind of person. Him being Seungkwan’s best friend makes absolutely no sense up front, but deep down Soonyoung knows how to handle Seungkwan, and what to say when Seungkwan needs him. Considering where he is right now, Seungkwan figures he just really likes being around people who don’t make sense for him on the surface but understand him at some deeper, core level.

            “The guy who ate an entire twelve by eighteen grocery store cake by himself for his tenth birthday and threw the whole thing up half an hour later,” he tells Hansol. “He says he tastes vomit if he eats any kind of cake since it was half chocolate half vanilla.”

            “Guy knows how to party,” Hansol says.

            Seungkwan snorts. “Some kind of party. It’s called taste aversion—it’s a psychological term.” He shakes his head. “Anyway. That’s why I wanted a brownie recipe.”

            “And you somehow found my video?”

            Seungkwan hums. “Well, you have a lot of views and it was a new, popular video so it showed up on my recommended, I suppose. YouTube’s algorithm picks up random stuff, right? Probably some analytical thing knew we were both Korean too.” Hansol nods like that’s fair. “And then I guess I clicked since, you know, you’re pretty cute I guess.”

            Hansol laughs once, poking Seungkwan’s back for a second. “Wow, what a compliment. You’re _way_ cute.”

            Seungkwan smiles. “And your brownies looked really good, even though I fell for the whole thing. And again, you’re half Korean, so I guess some form of…whatever that is. Similarity attraction and stuff.”

            “You mean comfort?” Hansol says.

            Seungkwan looks at him, and Hansol only smiles. Soonyoung would give Hansol a big smooch on the cheek for pointing it out so blatantly to Seungkwan. But the joke’s on Soonyoung because Seungkwan is here with Hansol anyway. Or…maybe the joke is on him for that. In the end, Soonyoung wins either way, doesn’t he.

            “I actually am kind of hungry,” Hansol says. “I’d kill for a brownie right now.”

            “The ones I made for the party were amazing. Not based on your recipe, thank you very much.”

            Hansol laughs. “Probably a good thing. I wonder if yours would taste a different color.” Seungkwan frowns, confused. “Oh—right.” Hansol puts his hand out for a second. “When I’m high, I taste colors. Like, specific flavors taste like a color to me. I know it sounds crazy and I don’t get it, but it’s true.”

            Seungkwan’s eyebrows go up again. “Actually, that’s called synesthesia—one sensory or cognitive pathway can lead to automatic activation of another. I’ve never met anyone who has it before. You can taste colors, or some people see colors, or taste sounds.”

            Hansol smiles, but it looks a little different. His eyes don’t participate as much, and when he draws in a slow breath, he lets his supporting arm come down and he goes onto his back. Seungkwan immediately misses the feeling of Hansol’s fingers on his skin, but at the same time he pushes up, wondering what he said that changed anything. He looks down at Hansol’s face.

            Hansol watches the ceiling. “Actually, my ex was like that when we smoked together.”

            The weight of it drapes itself over Seungkwan’s shoulders. He had nearly forgotten the deal they’d made to get him here, but all at once he remembers. The unanswered questions in text, the dodging responses in person. Hansol has been running.

            The curiosity edges in again, but it isn’t as excited as before. At the time, in the bright sunlight and sweet coffee of their first meeting, Seungkwan was eager to know, just for the sake of knowing. Now, in the dim, where Hansol and everything looks hazy and nebulous, grainy with the lack of light, the curiosity has changed into something indistinct—knowledge for a purpose, but one Seungkwan can’t define. Not until he knows. He thinks that he has part of it—the same reason why he did for Hansol what he did, what he _wanted_ to do—but without the whole story, he can’t be sure of the reason _why_.

            He says, “Was he?”

            Hansol smiles and nods, and Seungkwan can imagine his camera personality saying something like _Get out your notepad, doc, because this one’s a real freaking banger._ But Hansol’s smile just fades to not much and he says, “His name was Jihoon. He made music—he was a producer. Is, I mean. Music major in his third year at UCLA, but amazingly talented before any formal education. He got lucky with a record company and he moved to Seoul to work as an apprentice with some seasoned guy for a few solo artists there. He’s always working and we don’t really talk, so… But yeah—when he was high, he could actually see notes in the air as waves of green and ripples of blue and pinpricks of pink and flashes of yellow. Have you ever seen _Ratatouille_? Like when he’s making flavor combinations with the cheese and strawberry.” He laughs once. “Yeah. Like that.”

            Hansol’s voice is subdued but intent. He’s looking up at nothing as if he’s seeing something in his mind only—faded memories, scenes in hindsight. This is the knowledge, in pieces for Seungkwan to make sense of. It isn’t a difficult puzzle.

            “I’ve seen it,” he says.

            Hansol nods. “Mhm. We weren’t right for each other in the end. He told me I needed someone different from us. Those were his exact words. Different from _us_.” He pauses. “And he’s moved on now, so.”

            Hansol shifts on the bed. One of his hands rests over his stomach while the other lays quiet on the covers. Seungkwan isn’t sure if he’s done yet, if that’s all of the story Hansol is able to share. He understands if it is, and more will come later given enough time for Hansol. Seungkwan wonders then how long it has actually been.

            “We were only together for four months,” Hansol continues. “I never even told my parents about him. It was one of those classic whirlwind things. We met and—well, I’d say we were inseparable but maybe that was just because I clung to him. He was absolutely beautiful, short with this impossible blond hair, and… He was actually my first everything. I guess that was part of it. I had no experience and I thought that it was all so perfect, and I was so idyllic about it. Maybe a little delusional. Dating your first at eighteen years old on warm LA nights really makes you think crazy things.

            “We met at the freshman mixer at the dorm hall I was staying in. He taught me how to roll. He had been getting high since his freshman year, and the idea of being so rebellious after coming here on my own thrilled me, especially since I was so enthralled with him. The first day we met up after that party, we just sat in his place and he taught me how to roll and how to smoke. He told me his stuff was pretty good quality, though it was my first time smoking so it’s not like I knew. But it was, and for the rest of the time while I was way up—hours—he played music. He showed me his songs, he sang, he played his keyboard and wrote, he talked to me about the colors he was seeing. He had so many more words to describe them than I knew—not red or yellow but cabernet for bass, arterial for electric guitar; honey for cello and—” he laughs, just air, and shakes his head, “spectral type F for piccolo. He said my voice was brown but with shiny highlights, like liquid caramel. He said his own voice when he sang was just light blue, and his least favorite color.” He runs a hand through his bangs. “I remember having crappy university tap water from his sink and thinking how much it tasted like the color sage—a greyish green flavor. That was my first—what was it you said?”

            It catches Seungkwan off guard that Hansol is looking at him, breaking his thoughts about Jihoon. Hansol gazes at him purely, and his eyes still shine even in the dim. His full attention is _here_ in this moment between his memories, on Seungkwan. To Seungkwan, that’s big.

            “Synesthesia,” he says, and his voice comes out very quiet.

            “Yeah,” Hansol says with an easy smile. “My first taste of it, you could say.” He laughs again. “And I just watched him and the high had me loopy and everything felt so smoothed out and weightless, like a glassworker’s shop where he was the creator and I was the molten colors, burning. I didn’t know it would become what it did—or _I_ would become what I did. He never changed. He was always the same Jihoon. Four months of the same, perpetual Jihoon, while I burned.”

            Hansol takes another long pause and Seungkwan doesn’t know what to say. It’s the whole story—sure, details aren’t there, but Seungkwan has all he needs to understand everything. The way Hansol says it, the way he talks about Jihoon—it makes complete sense. Had Seungkwan had something like that, and had it leave for Seoul without a second thought, he may have been running too. After knowing what being high feels like, and after knowing what it takes away, even for just a little bit, it’s all perfectly clear.

            He realizes in that moment that Hansol is telling him this when he isn’t high at all.

            “I don’t know if I could do it again,” Hansol says. “It’s been long enough that I know that I don’t _want_ it again. I want…” He frowns. “Just chill and easy. Normal.” He blinks at the ceiling. “Josh says that has to come from me.”

            Finally, Seungkwan manages to speak. “I agree.” After another moment, he says, “Hansol, I…”

            Hansol turns to him with a remarkably gentle smile on his lips. His eyes shine with it and hold Seungkwan there. “I know. You saw it and you’re right. Josh is right. I’ll get there.”

            Seungkwan tries hard to find words to tell him, but he can’t. He sinks onto his arms again, turning his head in Hansol’s direction as he lies down.

            “What about you?” Hansol asks, like the conversation just flows on after that, like he doesn’t know that what he just said is everything. He props back up on his elbow and brings his fingers to Seungkwan’s back again, drawing lazily. “Any exes who saw phantom colors?”

            No, and no exes at all. Seungkwan thinks about how he’s never had a legitimate relationship, much less one as vibrant and volatile and so suited for cinematic romance like Hansol’s. He’s never had a boyfriend of any kind, and his two crushes (at least, the two he got the nerve to say something to) both rejected him. Part of him wants to keep that a secret, in some unlikely case that Hansol wouldn’t want to be with someone with almost zero experience as far as relationships go. But the rest of him understands that that really _is_ unlikely. Soonyoung’s voice: _Something tells me he won’t care._ And the part he didn’t say out loud: _Because it’s you, lovely._

Knowledge and feelings like this are so foreign to Seungkwan. Nobody has ever just _wanted_ him, plain and simple, until now. Even though he doesn’t have good stories, he still feels like he can tell Hansol anything.

            “My first was the most popular handsome gay guy in my junior year of high school,” he says. “He was a senior.”

            “Yeah?” Hansol asks, and no part of him seems anything besides curious about what Seungkwan has to say, whatever it is.

            Seungkwan nods. “Mhm. Korean too. Mingyu. There was this dumb upperclassmen party that one of the football players threw at his rich parents’ house in Beverly Hills, and one of my more popular acquaintances invited me, and Soonyoung—who had started college then—forced me to go. I had one class ever with Mingyu, and we had never talked before that night. He was one of those guys that didn’t seem gay until you knew it. Or maybe he was experimenting, I don’t know. He was tall and really cool, and we were both a little tipsy, so we pulled the perfect cliché and went into a room. I didn’t even know what I was doing.” He stops and laughs at himself. “It was so dumb. I felt like I had wasted it. I still feel like that.” He shakes his head. “He was good about it though. It obviously wasn’t his first time. He even talked to me for a while afterward. We told each other our last names—isn’t that awful? We didn’t even know that much. He was nice but he was so…so light in the head. He had cloudy dreams.”

            Hansol hums and keeps drawing on his back, and Seungkwan closes his eyes to the feeling. “We all have some I think.”

            Seungkwan pauses. “He was my only. Not just first. So.”

            Hansol nods. “Same for me.”

            “He wanted to be a film director. I don’t know where he is now.” He pauses again, then says, “I think he slept with me out of pity.”

            Hansol frowns. “I doubt that.”

            Seungkwan shrugs. “I’ll never know.”

            “I really doubt that.”

            Seungkwan opens his eyes to look at him, and Hansol’s fingers go still on his skin. “I spend a lot of time watching Soonyoung and his boyfriend. Their gazes and their laughter and their hands. Such a perfect couple. Me, _wishing_ I had a relationship like that. That’s my role.”

            Hansol smiles. “I _had_ a relationship like that. It walked away from me.”

            Seungkwan gazes into Hansol’s face. His eyelashes cast tiny fanned shadows that try hard to reach his cheekbones. “You loved him,” he says.

            Hansol draws in a deep breath. “Yeah, I did. I kind of…I fell for him a little too hard. I don’t think we were ever at the same level.”

            Seungkwan nods. “I’m sorry.”

            “I don’t think I am,” Hansol says, and shrugs. “I mean, we were really just _good_. So good—lock and key. But we weren’t right. Even though it’s taking me forever, I know it was a good thing for the both of us that he left.”

            Seungkwan waits a long time, letting Hansol look into his eyes. That’s the only thing left—the last thing he doesn’t know. Finally, he says, “Hansol, are you looking for something?”

            Hansol looks like he understands perfectly. “Actually…no. Jihoon and I ended more than a year ago, if that means anything. And since then, I stopped looking. I’ve been trying to stop trying and just let it happen, let something come along on its own.” He looks past Seungkwan at empty air. For a very slight moment, he looks almost angry, irritated at vast intangible things. “I’ve been kidding myself. I’ve just…” His gaze drifts back down to Seungkwan’s eyes, and his face softens. “Been waiting.”

            _Did it find you?_ Seungkwan wonders. No matter what, what Hansol has told him, the way he spoke, the way he looked, is more than enough for him. He nods again, accepting it fully. “Okay.”

            “I’m not the most solid person,” Hansol says.

            “I know.” He’s understands it all now. Though he had an idea before, which is why he ever asked that question at the end of his first long message to Hansol, now it’s all proven true. For more than a year, Hansol has been self-medicating. It’s LA, and it’s easily accessible, and now Seungkwan can attest to the fact that it’s _great_. And Jihoon taught him. So Hansol chose cannabis—anything to get his mind and his heart off the pain he had left over from his first love walking out on him. It doesn’t make it right or good, but it makes it real—it’s a _reason_. Hansol is not his camera persona. He’s just Hansol.

            “It’s not just insecurities,” Hansol pushes, looking insistently into Seungkwan’s eyes as if to warn him. “Something’s…”

            “I know, Hansol. I get it.”

            “I’m not…easy. Josh is a lot to me.”

            “Neither am I. Soonyoung for me.”

            “I just—”

            “Hansol, I understand.” He lifts his head and looks back at Hansol with equal firmness, and speaks so. “Really. I completely understand. It’s okay. I’m telling you that it’s okay. I’m here, aren’t I?” He almost reaches out to touch Hansol’s face, but he doesn’t. “It’s okay.”

            Hansol stares, unspeaking.

            Seungkwan lets his head rest deeper on his arms, and for a long time, they say nothing.

            “Well…don’t you have any cloudy dreams?” Hansol says to break the silence.

            It feels so good to have Hansol’s hand there on his back. Seungkwan sighs out a long breath. “I think my dream is already pretty up there. It’ll take a lot of work.”

            Hansol nods. “You’ll do it though.”

            “You think?”

            “I do.” He pushes Seungkwan’s shirt up just a little bit more, drawing circles in broader sweeps. “You’re so smart and driven.”

            “Hm.” He grins. “You must have a _lot_ of cloudy dreams.”

            Hansol chuckles. “Highs have definitely carried into sleep. And post-smoke naps are not uncommon. But, um…” He smiles and looks down, shaking his head.

            Seungkwan finds the sudden embarrassment endearing. “What?”

            Hansol tucks his shoulder up to his chin before dropping it. “Only a few people know this, but…I actually want to open up a real confectionery shop, you know? Like, make cakes for weddings and sell pastries and candy and things by the slice out of glass displays and stuff like that.”

            Seungkwan lifts up a little again. Hansol’s eyes follow him calmly, but with a nervous, excited glint in them, fixed on his face. “Really?”

            Hansol nods. “Mhm. And maybe there could be little tables too, so people could sit like at a café. And it would be half and half inside—light on the left with soft rainbow neons lining the ceiling and a skylike aesthetic. And the right would be dark and blood orange toned, and old style neons would be hung on the walls with THvC style words—”

            “Does that mean the left side is Hansol style?” Seungkwan asks.

            Hansol grins widely. “Totally.”

            “Why half and half?”

            Hansol shrugs again like it’s nothing too important, though Seungkwan can see how much he cares about this idea. “Well, because I’m half and half, and I feel like the dark half is my LA side and the light half is my SK side. But also because the dark half is where you go if you want the kind of stuff I make for my videos.” He smiles, sheepishly almost.

            Seungkwan’s mouth opens in an _ahh_ of understanding. “Okay. I get it.”

            But it’s actually a brilliant idea. Where bakeries are a dime a dozen in big cities like this, Hansol’s idea is original and unique. He would probably attract a ton of customers with the cool bifurcated aesthetic, and because he’s appealing to two different crowds. Plus, he’d have people coming from all over the country just to meet THvC and try his baking.

            Seungkwan has a brief image of what he sees the café as in his mind, a perfect line between the two halves as if he were looking straight on at a diorama. Soonyoung is sitting wearing white shorts and a baby blue shirt with his pink sunflower socks and white patent shoes, legs crossed in his chair with a beautiful slice of strawberry coconut cheesecake on a white china plate at a table with a fine lace cloth; and across the room with oxblood walls, under a deep orange neon that says _bad vibes_ in scratchy cursive, Seungcheol is on a black leather sofa wearing his street monochrome, and he has one of Hansol’s classic brownies—the dark side’s most popular choice—on a stainless steel plate with a gunmetal colored fork. The two lovers are smiling at each other across the threshold, Soonyoung’s grin huge and bright while Seungcheol gives his easy smile that says he loves everything about Soonyoung that is very different from him.

            Hansol is very different from Seungkwan.

            It’s quite cloudy, Seungkwan thinks, but very admirable. All he says is a sincere, “Wow.”

            “I thought maybe I’d call it White Blood. Bakery, I guess.” Hansol laughs a little. “For the whole opposite thing.”

            “That’s cool,” Seungkwan says. “And I think that it’s great and you should reach for it.”

            Hansol smiles. “Thanks. Me too. I’m like, saving up and trying to learn about business and stuff, so.”

            “No, that’s…” He sighs. “That’s really great, Hansol. Really. It makes my dream seem…kind of usual and boring.”

            “Are you kidding? Wanting to become such a professional, and one who wants to help people so much—that’s freaking awesome.” Hansol’s eyes are big with some kind of wonder. “I think it’s amazing what you want to do and that’s a great dream and goal to work toward. All I’m gonna do is sell cake and drugs.”

            Seungkwan bursts into laughter—the free, loud laugh that Soonyoung says is “massive and adorable”. He laughs so hard that he has to put his face in his arms on the pillow.

            “What?” Hansol asks through a grin.

            “It’s just—” Seungkwan composes himself and peeks out from his arms. “Sorry, it’s just—I just imagined your bakery but the sign outside says Cake and Drugs in Comic Sans.”

            Hansol snorts. “Yeah, that would literally be putting myself into immediate bankruptcy.”

            Seungkwan giggles and nods at him. “You should probably stick with White Blood. And anyway, what you said—that’s not true. You’re pursuing a passion just like me, and you’ll be running a small business, which is like, really cute and cool.”

            Hansol tilts his head to the side. “I mean, thank you, a ton. But there’s no way mine is on the same plane as yours. You’re like, for real.”

            Seungkwan just laughs and shakes his head.

            Hansol smiles easily. He looks at the sheets for a moment before he says, “Listen, Seungkwan. I know I kind of forced you to meet me, and this wasn’t something you wanted to actually—”

            “No. I enjoyed it.” When Hansol just looks at him, Seungkwan pushes up onto his elbow. “I did. It was crazy and super hypocritical of myself, but it was fun. I guess I’m kind of glad you exposed me.”

            Hansol’s hand on his back flattens out as he chuckles, and he seems to hold Seungkwan then instead. “Then, me too. And I kind of really like you.” His hand moves up under Seungkwan’s shirt to his middle back, fingers splayed gently to rub smooth along Seungkwan’s skin. “Like a lot. Like, I wanna shotgun you but minus the smoke. I just want to kiss you a lot and—”

            Seungkwan pushes himself over to do just that. Hansol hums against his mouth and they kiss for a while, Seungkwan’s hand coming up to Hansol’s face.

            When it breaks, Hansol’s lids flutter, unsure if they can open, and he’s breathless, sighing out his words. “Yeah. Like that.”

            Seungkwan sits up to his knees and pets Hansol’s hair again as he lays there, soft strands of brown with pretty highlighted ends running like fine spun caramel through his fingers. Everything makes _so much sense._ Hansol tilts his face to look up at him as directly as he can, his eyes as big and sad as they were before.

            “I like you too, Hansol.” He thinks for half a second about what Soonyoung said about liking people, and he shakes his head and laughs at himself, brushing Hansol’s bangs back out of his eyes. “A lot. Soonyoung is _so_ going to give me the I told you so.”

             “Well, I mean…”

            Seungkwan clicks his tongue and smacks him gently. “You don’t even know him.”

            Hansol grins. “I’d like to meet him since he’s your best friend. Maybe he can dish on you for me, let me know what to expect.”

            Seungkwan laughs. “Oh, so we’re like a _thing_ thing now?” He rests his fingers under Hansol’s chin, making him smile. “After one high off my ass date?”

            “First of all,” Hansol says, “turns out I love it when you swear. Second, that was nowhere near high off your ass. Third, you’re the one who just called it a date. And lastly…” He sighs and his expression changes, mellowing and becoming mature—a hint of him reaching somewhere near to a long-awaited contentment. Seungkwan rests his hand on his cheek. “I feel like I’ve waited and waited, a _really_ long time,” Hansol says. “And…if you’re down, I am _way_ into you.”

            His whole life Seungkwan has wanted to hear something like that. Why does it have to be so cute, and so easy, and so… _sparkly_? He pets Hansol’s hair back one more time before letting his hand lower down and Hansol’s bangs fall back messy over his forehead. “I’m not sure I’ve been more into someone ever.”

            Hansol’s lips part, as if in disbelief. “Then please let me start to _try_ again. That’s all I can ask of you.”

            Around them, the hazy air of an LA summer night dances on Seungkwan’s skin, tingly and warm, and it seeps into his being. He smiles and closes his eyes.


	17. 1.5 Weeks Later

Hansol’s screen is small in the righthand corner of Seungkwan’s computer. His slides for his last course take up the rest of his laptop face; his last final is early this afternoon.

            “It’s so much harder since I don’t have a machine,” Hansol whines at him through a mouthful of sandwich.

            Seungkwan raises an eyebrow at his little image up in the right. It’s like Hansol forgets that Seungkwan can see him when they’re video calling—he leans really close to his screen to focus on whatever it is he’s looking at, and it fills up the view Seungkwan has of him. Seungkwan can only see from the top of his head to half of his frustrated eyes at the moment. “I’m sure there’s some way,” Seungkwan says, moving his glasses up on his nose.

            Hansol leans back into his chair and slumps, flattening a hand over his chest and sighing. “Yeah, but—” He devours half of the sandwich triangle that’s in his hand. “Last time I tried making ice cream it got everywhere. I was cleaning heavy cream for six decades.”

            Seungkwan snorts and shakes his head at him. It’s a good thing he already knows this material or else he’d be winging the final with how little he’s getting from studying with Hansol on the call right now. “Buy a machine then.”

            Hansol looks into his webcam. “Are you kidding? A somewhat decent one of those would be, like, four hundred dollars.”

            “Let me remind you that you once spent twenty-five hundred on knives.”

            “Two thousand three hundred seventy-nine,” Hansol clarifies. “And those are my sons. I use them for everything. Can I justify an ice cream maker?” He finishes his PB&J.

            Seungkwan just smiles at him. “I don’t know, Hansol. Can you justify two-thousand-dollar knives?”

            Hansol clicks his tongue at him. “This is my livelihood, Kwannie. I’d buy an anti-griddle before an ice cream machine anyway.” He leans his elbows on his table and sighs, bringing his fingers to his trackpad. “I’ll conquer blackberry ice cream one day without fancy machinery. Maybe I’ll live stream that too.”

            “So you’ve decided on the livestream then? The French pastry thing?” Seungkwan takes down a note, but accidentally writes _pastry_ instead of _phobia_. He puts his pencil down and gives up for now.

            “Yeah,” Hansol says. “I wonder how close I am.” He starts to click onto his screen.

            In that moment, Seungkwan realizes he still doesn’t follow Hansol’s channel. He meant to a while ago, but he just…forgot? It’s a good thing Soonyoung doesn’t know, since even he followed Hansol since before Seungkwan ever met him, and he’s not even Hansol’s boyfriend.

            He had a video open on YouTube from a link in one of his psych slides, so he clicks into the tab and goes to Hansol’s page. “Probably soon, right?” Hansol hums back to him, and Seungkwan looks at the photo Hansol has for his icon (his hand, holding a cupcake with a joint stuck into the flower-shaped icing like a candle, trailing thin smoke— _so_ THvC) before finding the subscribe button and tapping it.

            “Oh my god—Kwannie.”

            Seungkwan looks at Hansol’s little image. He’s too close to the camera again, but not so close Seungkwan can’t see his big eyes and open mouth.

            “Just now,” Hansol says. “It just went.”

            “Wait—to three hundred?”

            “I just watched the whole six digits change.” He pauses for a second, and then grins huge and throws his arms up. “Yeah! I did it!”

            Seungkwan looks at him, looks at the subscribe button with the check mark on it. No. That would be the craziest possible coincidence. No way. He blinks out of it and smiles. “Hansol, congratulations! Three hundred freaking thousand people!”

            Hansol laughs and flops his arms down. “I’m so _lame_. I didn’t even have my clock open. I should have been sitting here doing a countdown or something—I almost freaking missed it. Oh my god, I have to tell Josh.”

            “Put him on speaker,” Seungkwan says. He closes out of YouTube and his slides and pulls Hansol’s camera view to full screen, watching him excitedly click through his phone.

            Hansol sets his phone on the table next to him. While it rings, he looks into the webcam—habit of his YouTube career—and gives Seungkwan a big grin.

            “Good job, Hansol,” Seungkwan says quietly. “I’m proud of you.”

            Hansol’s eyes flick down to stare at Seungkwan on his screen.

            “ _What’s up, man?_ ” Joshua’s voice says through Hansol’s phone.

            “Breaking news,” Seungkwan says, raising his voice a little in hopes Joshua can hear him through the video feed.

            “ _Yeah?_ ” Joshua replies. “ _What is it?_ ”

            Hansol leans close to his phone as if Joshua might not hear him yell. “Three hundred K, dude!”

            “ _Bro!_ ”

            Seungkwan laughs at them, and stuff inside his chest just feels nice and fluffy. It feels like that a lot lately—even with him being nervous about finals for the past week and half, he now has two people there telling him he’s got it instead of just one. And while he of course appreciates everything about Soonyoung and wouldn’t trade him for the world, it’s different from Hansol. It’s different _with_ Hansol. Hansol makes him feel…

            “I can’t freaking believe it!” Hansol is shouting.

            “ _You should have had a party or something. We could have been there and popped streamers or champagne._ ”

            “It was only two ninety-eight last time I checked.”

            “Are you free tomorrow, Josh?” Seungkwan asks. “We can have a party then.”

            “Kwannie will provide the streamers and you can provide champagne,” Hansol says.

            “ _At least attempt to mask the illegality, man_.”

“What are _you_ bringing then, hm?” Seungkwan asks Hansol.

            Hansol looks at him. “The numbers, of course.”

            Seungkwan snorts. “Oh, of _course_. Excuse me for forgetting.”

            Hansol winks at him.

            “ _I gotta go see my thesis advisor, dude,_ ” Joshua says. “ _But yes to the party. My place tomorrow, seven?_ ”

            “That’s plenty of time to film in the morning,” Hansol says. “Is that okay for you, babe?”

            It’ll die down eventually, but for now the nice fluffy feeling maxes out every time Hansol calls him that. “After four o’clock today, I’m a free man.”

            “ _Sweet._ _I think I can find some sparkling apple juice somewhere that you two can share._ _And invite the lovebirds along if they can make it, Seungkwan. Hansol—text me?_ ”

            Hansol just grins at his phone. “Got you.”

            “Bye, Josh,” Seungkwan calls, and Hansol ends the line. Seungkwan smiles at him again through the screen, wishing he could brush the caramel comma out of his eyes. “Really, Hansol. I’m proud of you.”

            “Thank you, Seungkwan.” He blows a kiss through the camera and Seungkwan catches it to put in his pocket. “Wanna come over later and share one with me?” Hansol asks.

            Seungkwan just makes the face at him like Hansol already knows the answer to that. “Take a wild guess.”

            Hansol laughs a little, then leans onto his arms on his table, close to the camera. “How about a deal.” Seungkwan can’t help but start to smile. “I _don’t_ smoke today, and instead I make special cookies for you, hm? Ginger snap maybe? Sea salt butterscotch? White chocolate blueberry lemon?”

            Seungkwan hums at him. Those all sound amazing, and Hansol really is an incredible baker. Cinnamon streusel muffins made with buckwheat flour from an atmospheric blue paper bag the morning after that first night were melt in his mouth amazing, and since then, two more delicious breakfasts, desserts after dinner—one at his place (Thai take-out) and one at Hansol’s (Chinese from downstairs)—and random surprise jewel-looking candies when Hansol knocked on his door unannounced yesterday. (He called them _kohakuto_ and he was extremely excited, going on and on about this cassis flavored extract he almost didn’t buy. And they were delicious. They ate the entire batch.) At this rate, with all that in one week, Seungkwan will sugar overload in no time. He does have a bit of a theory that it’s helping him with finals, though—all that glucose for his brain. And anyway, how can he say no to Hansol’s amazing creations? How can he say no to Hansol?

            Besides—this deal is proof. In these past ten days, Hansol has smoked (not counting the things for his videos; specifically _smoked_ ) a total of eight times, which might seem like a lot to an outsider looking in, but compared to before, Seungkwan knows it’s down by a significant percentage from when Hansol was having one around twice a day. Part of it is Seungkwan’s passive admonishing, but a lot of it is because Hansol is happy—not happy like he always was but happy in his soul. Things still hurt, but not like they did before.

            Seungkwan tilts his head and says, “Make it classic chocolate chip with nothing special in them and you’ve got a deal.”

            Hansol smiles widely. “All right. I’m so glad this is your last exam. Josh just finished yesterday and he’s just got this last meeting with his advisor, then graduation here we come. You’ll come to the ceremony with me, right?”

            “Anything for Joshua.”

            Hansol smiles. “Right? Will Soonyoung and Seungcheol be back before then?”

            Seungkwan nods and pushes up his glasses. “Cheol’s graduating too, remember?”

            Hansol nods. “Right, right. Look at us—supportive boyfriends of our boyfriends’ best friends or boyfriends’ best friends’ boyfriends.”

            Seungkwan frowns at empty space. “That actually did make sense, didn’t it.”

            “ _And_ I’m sober.” Hansol leans back and mimes a mic drop.

            Seungkwan just shakes his head at him. “Well, meantime, as Joshua prepares his cap and gown, the lovebirds will be gone for almost a week and I’ll be done with exams, which means I’ll have _nothing_ to do,” he says, nonchalantly drawing out the last three words.

            “Uh, not true,” Hansol replies. “We can watch movies, we can make out. I can teach you to cook something that doesn’t come in an instant package.”

            Seungkwan would smack him if he were there. He sends a scathing squint through the camera instead. “I’m competent enough. I just don’t have a kitchen.”

            “Then we’ll work on it together,” Hansol says. “I can teach you to make rolls—that’s easy. You are my favorite golden bun, after all.”

            Seungkwan pouts and puts his hands on his cheeks. “Stop.”

            “I love how you assume I mean your face when you have other golden buns.” Before Seungkwan can even finish gasping in a breath to rebuff something like _You haven’t even seen them,_ Hansol smiles and says, “Deal two: you come over right after your test this afternoon and let me treat you to cookies because I _know_ you’re gonna be nervous about the grade even though you’ve already gotten A’s on all your other exams,” he smiles at Seungkwan again, “and I’ll never call you golden bun again. Cross my heart.” He makes the X over his chest.

            Seungkwan clicks his tongue and waves a hand at him. “No deal. Uncross that.”

            Hansol sticks out his lip and uncrosses his chest. “Aw. Why?”

            “Because it’s actually cute and I like it, so you’ll have to just treat me for no return.”

            Partial lie—Hansol hit a big milestone today and Seungkwan is proud of him for that, plus just proud of him in general for how he’s been changing lately. He’s better, getting a little more better every day. Joshua is noticing the change too. When Seungkwan first met him last week, while Hansol was in his kitchen and his music was loud enough that he couldn’t overhear them while he danced and baked, Joshua even thanked Seungkwan suddenly without saying what the thanks was for, but Seungkwan understood. They had a long talk about it, about Hansol’s mood and his heart, and Joshua helped fill in any last few pieces that Hansol didn’t get out that night he and Seungkwan were first together. He and Joshua got close really fast, and Seungkwan is glad that they have both a mutual liking and a mutual respect for each other since, as Joshua told him, they’re now the two most important people in Hansol’s life. _He falls hard and fast. I’m not saying get ready but…get ready._

            Seungkwan felt like sparkling apple juice in his chest when Joshua said that. Sparkly, and the gentle weight of a very welcome responsibility.

            So Hansol is getting there. Seungkwan doesn’t have to wonder about him anymore. Maybe he can treat Hansol to something, too. He would love to, actually.

            Hansol leans close to the camera again, resting his chin on his arms. “So you’ll still come over then?”

            Seungkwan smiles. “You hit three hundred K, of course I’m coming over. Start preheating the oven around four and I’ll call you when I get out.”

            Hansol grins. “Deal.”


	18. Epilogue: 1.5 Years Later

**Part 1: Dacquoise**

Seungkwan signs a heart next to his name at the bottom of the note he’s putting into Soonyoung’s present. Tomorrow is his graduation and two-year anniversary party, and Seungkwan has been working on his gift all morning. Along with a Polaroid camera that Soonyoung has been wanting “for those cute fuzzy photos,” he’s also making a photo album for him. He went and had a hundred sixty pictures printed yesterday, and somehow managed to find online a pretty pink album with a fuzzy sunflower on the cover.

            It starts with the first photo they ever took together, young and ugly, Seungkwan’s bangs too long and Soonyoung’s hair too bleached and his little stars on his eyes obvious and cheap, though still cute. They’re in Soonyoung’s room at his parents’ house, lying on the bed together. At the time, Seungkwan remembers thinking about how much he always wanted a friend like that. Then the book moves through the years until now, photos pulled from all the way up Seungkwan’s camera roll. The two of them at school; on the mini trip they took to the Los Padres National Forest after Soonyoung graduated high school—a selfie of the two of them along with another of Soonyoung doing a king dancer pose in front of a valley, before he was anywhere near as flexible as he is now; Soonyoung by the ocean with wet hair and cute yellow short-shorts a few days after he got his piercing done; Seungkwan seated crisscross surrounded by boxes on the floor of Soonyoung’s brand new apartment for college.

            The photo with Minghao on the beach halfway through the book reminds Seungkwan that their old best friend is flying in tonight from Hong Kong, and though the party tomorrow isn’t really a surprise, Minghao is. Seungkwan and Hansol are going to pick him up from LAX at eight.

            The rest of the book is filled with fancy yoga poses and pictures of the two of them out in the city, and Seungcheol becomes a theme, and Hansol and Joshua become a theme, and even more of their friends are in a few pictures too. The two couples are on either side of Jun making flashy gestures while he covers his face with his hands, his shiny new manager tag pinned to his shirt. The flowy sleeves of Jeonghan’s silk shirt hang down from his wrists while Seokmin lifts him into the infamous _Dirty Dancing_ pose during their company’s performance earlier this year. The two pairs and Joshua took a trip to Michigan over summer, and there are multiple photos of them on the beach of Lake Huron with Frisbees and buried toes during the day and a bonfire and fireworks at night. In the most recent photos—just after this semester, Soonyoung’s last—just the two couples went north for a few days of the usual winter break to see snow in Washington. They buried Hansol to the neck and made him an octopus. Soonyoung managed to nail Seungcheol in the face with a snowball, which Seungkwan caught and snapshotted perfectly, powdery white surrounding Seungcheol’s head just as he started to fall over. Seungkwan made a fluffy snow angel, and Hansol drew a halo and light rays coming out from him. Soonyoung attempted his signature Taurus pose that got him great marks in one of his classes, and sank far enough into the snow that his arms disappeared and his hair filled with powder, but he held it long enough to check his legs and for Seungcheol to get a photo in all of Soonyoung’s puffy blue jacket yoga glory before he flopped onto his back, whining about zen and flow through his laughter.

            It’s the most perfect gift he could have gotten, Seungkwan thinks. He even cried a little bit when he started putting it together last night, writing short notes and dates on the backs of every photo. He’s just put the finishing touches on it this morning, and now he tri-folds the note, seals it with a gold star sticker, and slips it into the second photo slot on the first page under that oldest photo of them. He closes the album and smiles at it. He’ll wrap it soon, but for now he looks up at his computer when a familiar beeping sound comes from the speakers.

            The view on his laptop screen today is of Hansol’s kitchen. Hansol pulled his table over and set his laptop up there so they could talk while Seungkwan worked on the gift and Hansol worked on the food. Soonyoung, being who he is, asked for lots of tiny pretty desserts for his and Seungcheol’s party instead of one big thing. Hansol is making eight mini tarts, four raspberry and four mandarin orange; twenty cheesecake petit fours, only classic New York cheesecake, he insisted; and twenty-eight rainbow macarons, four of each flavor—chocolate and vanilla, caramel espresso, dragon fruit, blueberry cassis, matcha, and blood orange liqueur. They’re all completely normal with nothing in them but too much sugar, and the same goes for most things Hansol bakes outside of his now strictly two videos a week channel, because a year and a half later, Hansol is a very different person.

            He was glad to take on Soonyoung’s challenge. While he’s been baking since yesterday, Seungkwan and the other guys all have to just run by the store tomorrow morning for other snacks, and Seungcheol will come by Hansol’s place later today to pick up the array of sweets to take back to his place in his self-gifted BMW SUV to hide away from Soonyoung in his fridge. Now, glancing up once in a while as they talk, Seungkwan gets to watch his boyfriend dancing around his kitchen while he bakes. Some artist Seungkwan doesn’t know is playing, and the scene is just so _Hansol_.

            He smiles watching Hansol go to the oven as it beeps and pull open the door to check whatever this batch happens to be, lean right into the heat, and stand up waving a hand in his face. Seungkwan can even see his newly done bangs wiggle a little with the waft of air.

            “You look sexy with black hair,” he says, and eats one of the pretzels he has in a bowl next to him.

            Hansol looks over his shoulder and poses for a second before grinning at him and grabbing his oven mitts from the counter. “You look sexy with any hair. Probably even with no hair.”

            Seungkwan sticks his tongue out at him. “I’m surprised it isn’t completely dead. Last time I did blond it was a wreck, but it’s like—” he brings his hand to his bangs, “shiny. And soft.”

            Hansol turns around with the pan of twelve macarons. His oven mitts are the pair Seungkwan got him for his birthday this year: baby pink, and in pretty cursive the left hand says _this shit is_ and the right hand says _fucking delicious_. “I know how soft it is.” He smiles coyly.

            Seungkwan sticks his tongue out again. “Is that the last of those? What flavors?”

            Hansol puts the pan down on his stovetop and points with his sweary oven mitt. “Dragon fruit, cassis, and orange. I figured I’d do the fruit ones in one batch and the others together. Too dangerous to comingle.”

            Seungkwan chuckles. “Makes perfect sense.”

            Hansol slips off his mitts to put them on the counter and comes to his computer. “So.” He sits down in his chair. “While those cool, hi babe.”

            “Hi babe,” Seungkwan says, and even though it’s a year and a half later he still gets kind of fluffy inside. “I just finished my main present.”

            Hansol’s eyes widen. “Oh, I have to wrap mine.”

            “I’ll bring mine over later and we’ll wrap together since I know you can’t do it.” He smiles and eats another pretzel.

            Hansol just nods. “You’re so right. And these are octagonal and weird so it’d be even worse. You’re still coming tomorrow morning so we can go get Cheol’s thing early, right?”

            Seungkwan shakes his head. “I can’t believe he didn’t want presents. I’m sure he’ll like this though. And how about I just stay the night instead after we go out with Minghao and take him to his fancy hotel?”

            Hansol turns to the side and makes a fist, pulling it down with a quiet, “ _Score._ ” He clears his throat and turns back to the camera. “Yeah, I think I can make space for you.”

            “Thanks a lot,” Seungkwan says, and they laugh.

            “So, I’m gonna bake a little cake too,” Hansol says hesitantly.

            Seungkwan snorts. “Good luck.”

             “I know, I know,” Hansol concedes. “I really want to get him to try one. I’ll feel like the most accomplished baker in the world if I can get Kwon Soonyoung to like cake again.”

            “Uh-huh.” Seungkwan looks down at his phone—notification from Soonyoung’s Instagram post. He picks it up. “What kind are you making?”

            “I’m making a classic dacquoise.”

            “Never heard of it.” He waits for the photo to load and searches for another pretzel.

            “Not surprised.” Seungkwan sticks his tongue out a third time and then puts his pretzel on it. Hansol smiles at him. “So, without all the technicalities of pan size and oven temps, I start by pulsing hazelnuts and almonds into a fine powder, then sift in some confectioners sugar and a pinch of salt. Aside from that, I whip egg whites into soft-peak stage and add in granulated sugar for the meringue. Then I’ll mix in the powder and then pipe out the mixture for three rectangular layers.”

            Seungkwan double taps Soonyoung’s half bow pose, one leg and one arm pointed out, held up in the air by Seungcheol’s feet at his hips. He even managed to finally get Seungcheol into yoga over the past couple months, convincing him by proving the benefits of yoga for sports athletes, considering Seungcheol’s degree and his current paid internship with the LA Dodgers—help from his Master’s program and his financial prowess. Now the LA yoga girl photos are magnified into LA yoga couple photos. It’s even on the beach. He scrolls through his feed as he listens to Hansol’s baking descriptions. “Mmm. Talk dirty to me.”

            “Oh, that’s not all babe,” Hansol says. “This cake has chocolate ganache too.”

            Seungkwan pauses and looks up at him. “It does?”

            Hansol smiles deviously. “Uh-huh. I know it’s one of your faves. Wanna hear it?”

            Seungkwan closes his phone and puts it face down. “Tell me everything.”

            Hansol chuckles. “I start with heavy cream in a saucepan. Get the heat going on low, and then scald the cream before pouring it into a heatproof bowl full of dark chocolate for a smooth melty mess.”

            Seungkwan makes a noise and closes his eyes. That sounds good enough for him. He had a fantasy involving melted chocolate for a long time—he’d even let Hansol be high for it, he always thought. Hansol ended up not even wanting to be high, and Valentine’s Day ended up _amazing._

            Actually, Hansol doesn’t want to be high most of the time nowadays.

            “Mhm. And then let it cool down.” Hansol laughs. “And that’s all. Ideally, it would be cooling overnight, but this was a last-minute decision and I was literally running around Seokmin’s shop yesterday getting the extra stuff I needed.”

            Seungkwan has been with Hansol to The Blue Shop many times now, and it’s both impressive and really adorable how Hansol knows exactly where everything is, but still hops around like a kid in a candy shop, excited about each thing he picks up. And even though this cake is likely to be a failure regarding Soonyoung, it’s still really considerate of Hansol to go this extra extra mile for him.

            “Kwon better like it,” Seungkwan says.

            Hansol sighs. “He better at least have one bite. That’s all it should take to revert him.” Seungkwan rolls his eyes playfully. “But wait—there’s more.” Seungkwan gasps, and Hansol says, “Buttercream. Sugar water, soft-ball stage in a saucepan, then drizzle into beaten eggs and whip until light and fluffy. Add butter—”

            “Your favorite ingredient.”

            “Absolutely. Until silky. Then some espresso powder and another pinch of salt and we’re good to go. Again, it should sit in the fridge, but we’re on a time crunch here and this is an important mission. So then I just finesse it into a block of multilayered beauty and, tomorrow at the party, force it down Soonyoung’s throat.”

            Seungkwan smiles big. “I love it when you talk about baking and doing nice things for our friends.”

            Hansol smiles back. “Mhm. Oh, and there’s one more thing about the dacquoise—the best part. The cake itself is set on a base of English shortbread biscuits.”

            Seungkwan clicks his tongue and puts his cheek in his hand. “Aww, Hansol…”

            “Cute right?” He grins. “A little piece of us.”

            “Inside Soonyoung.” He eats a pretzel.

            Hansol claps his hands. “Well that’s the freaking plan! So when are you getting here today?”

            Seungkwan looks at the time—almost noon. “Soon. What should I wear?”

            Hansol gets up from his chair and angles the laptop back to the kitchen. “Whatever you want, babe. I’m literally in sweats or joggers and a t-shirt or hoodie every time.” He pokes at one of the purple dragon fruit macarons.

            “Because that’s all you own,” Seungkwan says. “Meanwhile I have to pick between—”

            “Jeans and jeans?”

            Seungkwan purses his lips. “Well, I don’t know. I’ve never been on camera like this.”

            Hansol gets the spatula he used for the other macarons this morning. “Do the light jeans that hug you and… _ooh_ , the white t-shirt with the pink shirt over it. With the hornets on the shoulders.”

            “Unbuttoned?”

            “Yes. Definitely.” Hansol scoops up a macaron and holds it, opening his mouth in happiness. “Yay!”

            Seungkwan laughs softly. “All right.”

            “Sweet. That’s probably my favorite outfit on you.” His hand holding the macaron twitches and he frowns at it. “I almost just ate this.”

            Seungkwan snorts. “Put them away and I’ll be there soon, okay?”

            Hansol leans toward his computer and smiles. “See you, sexy. Oh, and half-tuck the shirt too.”

            Seungkwan shakes his head at him and blows him a kiss. Hansol catches it to put in his pocket.

 

**Part 2: Off the Coast of Santorini**

“What up everybody, how you guys doing? It’s THvC back at you with…” Hansol pulls in a breath and nods, “a cool video today.” He smiles at the camera, seated further away than usual this time, with no table in front of him. “I guess you can tell by the title what this is, but I’ve been wanting to do this for like, ever. So here we finally are.” He pats his hands on his legs for a second. “So, you guys have heard me talk about my boyfriend before, and you’ve seen his, like, arms when he’s been off camera during taste tests and mukbangs a couple times, right?”

            He looks sideways, and Seungkwan meets his gaze with a smile. He’s been standing there in his jeans and pink shirt since Hansol got the camera rolling, waiting for his entrance cue. He’s nervous about being on the camera, especially since they’re literally winging everything when he thought Hansol had at least somewhat of a script, but at least it isn’t live. And he won’t lie—his first time getting to be a real part of Hansol’s channel is pretty freaking cool.

            Hansol smiles back and continues. “But this time around I asked you guys to send in some questions—whatever you wanted, for me or for the two of us or just whatever. And you can see that I have another chair here.” He motions to the chair they had to buy specifically for this video since he only had one. “Which means that today…” He sends his devious grin to Seungkwan, tilting his chin down.

            “Oh god,” Seungkwan laughs out, covering his face.

            “Everyone, meet Biscuit.” Hansol leans closer to Seungkwan and whispers, “Come on, babe,” as if the mic won’t pick it up and the viewers won’t hear it.

            Seungkwan shakes his head and walks into frame, waving both hands up by his shoulders. “Hi. I’m—” He looks over at Hansol, who nods enthusiastically up at him. “I’m Seungkwan. Nice to meet you. I guess?”

            “Smooth,” Hansol says, and Seungkwan awkwardly takes his chair. Hansol looks at the camera again. “This is my boyfriend, Kwannie. The term biscuit is back from when I was just around three hundred K subs, so for any of the new hundred twenty that probably made no sense. It’s kind of a long story though so…” He smiles at Seungkwan. “We’ll see. But is he not a biscuit?” He flourishes his hands, displaying Seungkwan for everyone.

            Seungkwan tucks his shoulders up, his cheeks getting a little hot. “Hi.” He waves again, making himself look at the camera lens instead of himself on the monitor. At least he looks good though. And he and Hansol look good together.

            Hansol laughs. “He’s so cute. So, we got like a bajillion questions, so I had my buddy Josh go through them for us and pick out like, I don’t know, twenty-ish? So we haven’t seen any of them before we start reading them now. Sorry if your question isn’t in here but we only have so much filming time and I didn’t want an hour-long Q and A, you know?” He shrugs. “So uh, should we get to it?” He pulls out his phone. “Kwannie, do you want to start us off?”

            Seungkwan takes a deep breath. “Oh, sure, why not.” He takes the phone and looks at the note that Joshua must have made for them, scrolling down. “So I just—read them out loud?”

            “Mhm. We’ll answer together. If they’re for both of us, I guess.”

            Seungkwan nods. “Okay. First one.” He scrolls back up and smiles. “Looks like we’ll be telling the story anyway. When and how did you meet your boyfriend, and how long have you been a couple?” He smiles at the camera, and in the moment that he realizes it’s because he feels like he’s speaking _to_ someone, it becomes much easier. Hansol has told him that before, hasn’t he. “That’s cute. Thank you Josh and whoever sent this in. Uh—” He holds a hand out to Hansol. “Do you wanna?”

            Hansol shakes his head like a kid, grinning. “You.”

            Seungkwan makes an apologetic face at the camera. “We’re not usually this sickening, I’m sorry.”

            Hansol turns to the camera with his eyebrows up. “And apparently Kwannie is all warmed up, wow.”

            Seungkwan laughs and looks at the question again before letting his hand rest on his thigh. “Okay, so…well, we became a couple pretty much right when we met. I actually,” he laughs and looks at Hansol, “I was not a fan, and I mean that in both senses. I didn’t know who he was, didn’t know about his channel, and when I _did_ see one of his videos, I wasn’t into it. I don’t do drugs, so. Um, I actually found his video by chance and completely fell for the word ‘baking,’ because I really just wanted a brownie recipe.” He pauses nodding for a second. “Yes, you’re remembering the comment now, aren’t you? That’s me.” He looks at Hansol again, who’s watching him with shine in his eyes and a huge smile.

            “You’re a natural, babe,” Hansol says.

            Seungkwan smiles and flaps at the camera. “We’re rolling!”

            Hansol shrugs. “I’ll cut it out.” He turns to look into the lens. “Y’all may have thought I was a fool for putting that comment up, and I was, but something really freaking good came out of it. I’m still waiting for Karma to kick me in the ass.”

            _Karma kicked you before we met,_ Seungkwan thinks. _You balanced it yourself_. He says, “And so I ragged on him for the comment thing on his Instagram, and he asked me to meet in person, and for some reason I said yes. The rest leads to today.”

            “Can I tell a story?” Hansol asks him.

            Seungkwan can’t imagine what it is, but why not. “Sure.”

            Hansol turns to the camera and crosses his ankles. “As far as Seungkwan knows, we saw each other in person for the first time that day, when we met after I asked. But that’s not true.”

            Seungkwan’s heart jumps in his chest, and he looks alarmed over at Hansol. “What are you talking about?”

            Hansol grins at him. “Don’t worry, it’s nothing stalkery. It’s just—okay, after Seungkwan left that comment on my brownie video, some weird freaky coincidence happened. In _all of LA,_ I saw him.”

            “ _When_?” Seungkwan nearly shouts. “Why haven’t you ever told me?”

            “Because I’ve always wanted to do a Q and A, and I thought it would be a cool thing to spring on you during one for the boyfriend tag,” Hansol explains.

            Seungkwan waves his hands up in the air. “It’s been more than a year, Hansol, you’re freaking weird! Tell me!”

            “I’m trying!” Hansol says, giggling, and Seungkwan puts his arms down. “I saw you outside The Blue Shop. You were carrying—by the way.” He looks at the camera again and points to it. “If y’all ever need baking supplies and you live in LA, go to The Blue Shop on seventeenth. My man Seokmin has literally anything you could want. Take if from a self-proclaimed professional.”

            “ _Hansol_.”

            Hansol puts his hands up in his surrender pose. “I was going there for some stuff, and I saw you walking out. You were carrying one of the big paper bags.”

            Seungkwan racks his brain and looks up, remembering the details. “I…think I bought—” He snaps his fingers. “Right, I bought flour and cocoa powder and vegan white chocolate. For Soonyoung’s birthday.”

            Hansol pauses and looks at him. “Do you think it’ll be okay to include Soonyoung’s name or should I bleep it out? Or do you wanna do a retake on that?”

            Seungkwan sighs and relaxes back in his chair, smiling. “I had no idea you saw me. That’s…kind of cosmic.”

            Hansol does a soft _Oooh._ “We’re keeping that in. That was cute. Good word, I like it.”

            “Soonyoung would die to have his name in one of THvC’s videos. You’re fine.”

            Hansol nods and turns back to the camera. “Cosmic is right. He was wearing these cute jeans and a red and blue polo shirt.”

            Seungkwan makes a face. “Ew. Please don’t talk about that.”

            Hansol laughs. “All of LA—imagine. But, so yeah. We’ve been together for like, pretty much a year and a half now, right?”

            “Wow,” Seungkwan says.

            “Solid. Go us, babe.” He puts his hand up and they high five.

            “Let’s go to the next one.” Seungkwan lifts Hansol’s phone to look at the note again. “How did you two know you wanted to make it official?”

            Hansol pokes out his lip in thought. “Uhh…we kind of just did?” Seungkwan nods in agreement. Hansol hooks a thumb at him. “He was the one who called our first meeting a date, so.”

            “Yeah, that’s true. I mean, we kind of immediately thought of each other as boyfriends, I think?”

            Hansol nods. “Pretty much.”

            “We had a kind of different beginning than other people,” Seungkwan says. “Not in how we met but like…the connection we had.”

            “It sounds sappy but it’s true,” Hansol says to the lens. “And uh.” He shrugs. “I guess it worked out. Next?”

            “Seungkwan,” Seungkwan reads with a smile, liking how Hansol’s followers knew his name from Hansol talking about him before they’d ever seen him. “How do you feel about Hansol’s channel?” He tilts his chin up and laughs. “That is a long one.” He looks over and Hansol is doing his sheepish smile. “Honestly, I could go into detail forever but…well, there’s a lot behind the channel and behind Hansol and us as a couple that people don’t know about. A lot of background and stuff.” He laughs. “We’re seeming awfully secretive, huh? Let’s just say that I’m cool with the channel.” He waves a hand. “Of course I am—it’s Hansol’s thing and he’s great at it and it makes him happy. But like I said, I don’t do weed.”

            Hansol snorts. “Yeah, the day we met was the only time he’s ever smoked or ingested any cannabis at all, and that was super conditional. He’s a guy with steadfast morals, and I like that about him.” He smiles at Seungkwan.

            “Next?” Seungkwan asks, then looks at the note. “Have you met each other’s parents and do they like you?”

            “We’ve met each other’s parents, but only mine in person,” Hansol says. “You guys know I’m from New York, so my parents live in the country. They took a trip here a while ago and met Seungkwan, and like, of course they love him. How can you not?”

            Seungkwan scrunches his nose at him, but blushes a little too. Meeting Hansol’s parents was awesome—they’re super kind, very down to earth, and Seungkwan can see that Hansol is a product of them. They raised a very good son and a very good person. If in-laws is a thing down the road, Seungkwan is more than happy to call Hansol’s parents family. And Sofia too, though they haven’t met yet—she was busy with school when Hansol’s parents came to LA. But Seungkwan has talked to her multiple times and she’s one of the coolest people ever. The amount of roasting Hansol they do makes Hansol cover his face with a pillow every time they video call.

            “But we’ve only video called Seungkwan’s parents before,” Hansol continues. “Seungkwan is full Korean, and he was born there. He’s from this little island called Jeju that’s just south of Korea, and that’s where his parents live.”

            “They hardly speak English,” Seungkwan picks up. “But luckily Hansol was bilingually raised and knows a fair amount of the language. Did they know that?” Seungkwan asks Hansol.

            “Not at all,” Hansol says in Korean. “I’ve never spoken it on the channel before.”

            “Well I guess they know now,” Seungkwan answers back. They laugh, and it feels almost like a secret code that they don’t usually get to use because all their friends were either also raised bilingually, have been studying Korean for a while like Joshua, or were monolingually raised but taught English, then had extremely high marks in Korean language and translated all of his important sports medicine papers into Korean as well. The extent of using it as code is around Soonyoung, who was raised from birth to know English and so only knows advanced conversational but not academic Korean. At times, Seungkwan and Hansol can code switch in front of him and he’ll whine about them talking about him, when usually it’s about something completely unrelated—like their twenty-minute debate on artificial intelligence while Soonyoung pouted at them as he tended to his Bonsai since he couldn’t fully understand.

            “And did your parents like him?” Hansol asks, back in English.

            Seungkwan laughs. “Uhh, yeah. What they knew about him.” He looks at the camera. “They’re your typical Asian parents—they want what’s best for me but they also have Korean ideals and opinions, so they adored the way he looks and that he’s fluent in Korean and English, but…” He tilts his head.

            “We didn’t exactly tell them what I do,” Hansol says. “Or what I don’t do—as in not going to college and stuff.”

            “Which I’m okay with,” Seungkwan says. “He’s a very self-effective and productive person with admirable aspirations and the will to meet them by working for it, and he’s by no means unintelligent, so I’m proud of the choices he makes with his life even if college isn’t one of them.”

            “Besides,” Hansol says, grinning at the camera. “Kwannie’s gonna be a rich therapist, which means I have a sugar daddy. Next?” Seungkwan smacks Hansol’s leg, but Hansol just turns to him and speaks more softly. “I’ll cut this out, but thank you, Seungkwan. I know you’ve said it all before but it really means a lot.”

            Seungkwan smiles and rubs the place he smacked. “I mean it. I’m proud of you. Really proud.”

            Hansol leans over and they kiss a few times. “All right. Let’s go on.”

            Seungkwan squeezes his thigh and looks at the list. “Oh—another one for me. “Seungkwan, what’s your favorite thing that Hansol bakes?” He makes big eyes and looks sideways at Hansol. “ _Oh_ , he makes this one thing—gosh, I’m gonna pronounce it wrong.”

            Hansol snorts. “Oh, I know the one. Pardon his French, you guys.”

            “Literally,” Seungkwan giggles. “It’s called _flan_ _pâtissier_ _au chocolat_ and it is absolutely divine. It’s got a cookie-ish crust and a rich creamy middle that completely melts in your mouth, and he puts cocoa powder and crushed dark chocolate on top, and sometimes shredded coconut or strawberries, and after being chilled overnight it’s just…” He shakes his head. “It’s the best thing in the world.”

            “And no, there’s nothing in it,” Hansol says. He holds his hand out for the phone, and Seungkwan hands it to him.

            Seungkwan nods. “Won’t let him.”

            Hansol smiles and sighs, looking at the list. “Well, you were supposed to say biscuits, but I’ll accept that answer for the brave attempt at French. What do you guys like to do in your free time?”

            Hansol says, “I’m all free time,” while Seungkwan says, “What free time?”

            Seungkwan laughs. “Okay, that’s not totally true. So, I’m studying behavioral neuroscience, so I do have a lot of classes and schoolwork—”

            “Hot,” Hansol says.

            Seungkwan smacks him again. “But in my free time, I’m either with him or with our friends, often both. We spend most of our time together at this point.” Hansol nods. “And Hansol dedicates so much time to this channel and his job,” Seungkwan says, “which he doesn’t even need now but still does because he actually likes it.”

            “Yeah. I just sit back and play some music for an hour or two and go to work. Seungkwan will study next to me or whatever. It’s cool. Plus, I get to buy cool stuff with the extra money.”

            Seungkwan side-eyes him, because Hansol’s latest purchase wasn’t exactly a set of knives, though the danger level could be considered equal. “Hm,” he says.

            Hansol grins. “Kwannie doesn’t like my purchases at times. Shall I go to the next question?”

            “Good idea.”

            “Who wears the pants?” Hansol reads. Before Seungkwan can even open his mouth to speak, Hansol says. “Oh, absolutely Seungkwan. Absolutely. God honestly like, if I didn’t have him, I’d be a wreck.”

            Seungkwan sticks his lip out at him. “That’s not true.”

            “Part of it,” Hansol says, gazing over at him.

            Seungkwan understands what he means. It was a long time ago now, but Hansol continues to give Seungkwan credit for his change, even though Seungkwan thinks that all he did was give Hansol a little nudge like Soonyoung does for him sometimes, just to get him over the line. Hansol got better on his own terms, and Seungkwan is proud of him for that too.

            Hansol can see his thoughts and smiles. “But yeah. I do what he says.”

            Seungkwan reaches out to take his hand and squeeze it.

            “Next,” Hansol says. He lifts the phone up and laughs at it. “I love this. I didn’t know you were gay? With the three questions marks?”

            Seungkwan lets out a loud laugh, folding over for a second. “I actually said that to Soonyoung when I first knew who you were—before we met. I was like, _he doesn’t even look gay_.”

            Hansol nods once at the camera. “Yup. Sorry to bother you. But no, uh, I don’t think that was meant to be offensive. Honestly, I don’t know if I’d call it gay. It just happens that the people I’ve been with romantically are boys, that’s all. Seungkwan though.” He points to his boyfriend. “He’s gay. For sure.”

            Seungkwan laughs again. “Someone’s gonna get offended by that.”

            “Are you?”

            “Nope.”

            Hansol looks at the camera again. “There you go. Next.” His eyes widen as he reads. “Ah, okay. Do you want kids?” He rests the phone on his leg. “Okay, first of all, we’re both twenty-one.”

            “Agreed.” Seungkwan nods.

            “So let’s just go from personal perspective here. Kwannie, have you always wanted kids?”

            “Yes. You?”

            He smiles. “Yeah. I want a daughter.”

            Seungkwan pokes out his lips in a pout. “I want two kids though.”

            “Two daughters it is,” Hansol says to the camera. “Adoption is rad, eh? Uh…favorite thing to do together?”

            They look at each other, and Seungkwan says, “On three. One, two, three—”

            They look at the camera and say, “Eat.”

            Hansol laughs loudly. “On my honor, that was one take, you guys. We did not plan that out. Yeah—just cooking and eating together, which seems kinda lame cause like, yeah, of course. But we just find meals together to be a really cool special thing for us, which makes the fact that we have to do it all the time really awesome.”

            Seungkwan hums in agreement. “And he’s been teaching me how to cook, so.”

            “Yeah, that’s been really cool too. All right. What do your friends think of each other and your relationship?” Hansol makes a _pfff._ “This would be a better question for a different couple. All of my friends are all of his friends.”

            “We kind of mashed our two friend groups together,” Seungkwan says. “And we all kinda like each other, so.”

            Hansol sends another, “There you go,” to the camera. “What’s the best experience you’ve shared together?” Hansol flaps his hand at Seungkwan. “Aww, this is a cute question babe. Can I?”

            Seungkwan knows exactly what story Hansol is about to tell. He smiles and nods to him.

            Hansol grins. “So, Seungkwan had always wanted to go on a trip. We’ve been on a couple now with our friends, but before those, a _long_ time ago when our first summer was in full swing, we flew to Santorini. It’s an island in the Aegean Sea, near Greece. You know those cliffside scenes with white buildings and blue roofs next to gorgeous blue water? That’s where we went. We stayed for a week, the food was freaking amazing, the water was amazing, the sightseeing was beautiful, and the little private place we stayed was perfect.”

            “Seriously perfect,” Seungkwan says, closing his eyes. “We dipped into both our savings for that trip, but I’m so glad we did it. My dream would be to travel as much as my friend gets to with his bazillionaire boyfriend,” he says, laughing. “I actually think they’re going to Morocco soon.”

            “Then we’ll just one-up them,” Hansol says, “and, I don’t know, parachute into the Amazon rainforest.”

            Seungkwan gives him a thin smile. “Or how about not that and we try, I don’t know, Denmark? Or the Maldives?”

            “Oooh, a _tropical_ island.” Hansol gasps. “Let’s win the lottery and buy a private island. We can invite all our friends.” He turns to the camera, sits stiffly with his hands on his knees, and starts running words off. “Please support our GoFundMe campaign for a private island in the Maldives any small amount would be a huge help we really appreciate your assistance and your compassion and we thank you for your thoughts and prayers.”

            Hansol pauses, and Seungkwan makes a face at him. “What are you doing?”

            Hansol laughs. “I’m gonna run text on the screen with a URL and a title and everything.” He sighs and grins at the camera while Seungkwan shakes his head again. “Gosh, I’m funny. Next question. Have—” He stops, then turns and makes puppy eyes at Seungkwan. “Aw, Kwannie. Have you guys said I love you and who said it first?” He slaps his own leg. “This is really cute because it was in Santorini!”

            “It was really ugly actually,” Seungkwan says.

            Hansol bursts into laughter, tilting in his chair out of camera view, and Seungkwan laughs at the monitor, watching him tip over. Hansol gasps in a breath and sits back up. “Okay, the story is that we were snorkeling because like I said, the water there is just gorgeous, and, uhh…I just got this feeling? And I kind of pointed up for us to surface and we did, and I just gasped air into my lungs and my hair was matted down and it’s kinda thin so it wasn’t cute, and I had on those goggles, and I just blurted it out while the tube thingy hung in my face and the mask covered my nose. Like…” He turns slowly to Seungkwan. “It was not attractive.”

            Seungkwan smiles, thinking about the moment—how all of that is true, but right after Hansol blurted it out, he took off his goggles and shook his hair messy in his eyes, and the full summer sun made him look absolutely handsome, sparkling in the droplets of water on his skin and caught in his long eyelashes, and turning his irises into a familiar golden glitter. Seungkwan’s heart was beating out of his chest in the cool water. He could only look at Hansol for what was probably long enough to worry his boyfriend, and then he said it back: _I love you too, Hansol._ They went to each other and kissed in the blue of the Aegean Sea off the coast of Santorini.

            But nobody else needs to know that besides their best friends—especially not YouTube. He glances at Hansol, and Hansol smiles like he knows exactly what he was thinking about.

            So Seungkwan leans over and then sits up, gasping, in a dramatic reenactment of what Hansol said. “ _Seungkwan, I think I love you_ ,” he breathes out heavily, mimicking the pitch of Hansol’s voice, then laughs. “Not how I imagined it would happen, but yeah—he said it first and I said it back.”

            They both look at the camera again. “There you go.”

            Hansol looks back at the list on his phone. “Oooh, we’re getting sexual.”

            Seungkwan’s cheeks go red. Well, it’s not like he didn’t expect this anyway. “Joshua freaking Hong.”

            “Babe, oh my god.” Hansol covers his smile with the side of his hand. “I love the way it’s written too. Verbatim: y’all got a good sex life?” His eyes squeeze shut in laughter.

            Seungkwan sighs. “We do.” And that’s all he’s going to say.

            “We definitely do,” Hansol adds for him. “Okay, let’s rapid fire these.” Seungkwan shrugs a go. “How often?”

            Seungkwan frowns. “That’s personal.”

            “How long?”

            “That’s _super_ personal.”

            “Top and bottom?”

            “That’s obvious.” He points down, and Hansol points up.

            “Weirdest place you’ve ever done it?” Hansol immediately says, “Oh, this one time we—”

            “ _Hansol_.” He smacks him again.

            Hansol tucks away from him. “What?”

            “How about we don’t share our personal—”

            “The stacks.”

            Seungkwan widens his eyes at him in warning.

            Hansol turns to the camera anyway. “You know how in universities they have like, the basement parts of the library with the actual books in huge shelves that go on forever? It was on a table down in the stacks.” He looks cautiously over at Seungkwan, and he’s looking frozen into the camera, red to his ears in embarrassment. Hansol is _so_ gonna do a quick zoom on that, once he asks Seungkwan later during editing when Seungkwan is calmed down about it. “I’m pretty sure there was another student in there too,” he says.

            Seungkwan gapes at him. “ _What?_ Oh my god.” He whines and flaps his arm. “Hansol, you know I’m not qu—” He stops, saving himself as much as he can, and covers his face.

            Hansol does his devious grin at the camera, and he’ll zoom in on that too. “Next question. What was your first time like?”

            Seungkwan sighs into his palms. “This is really personal,” he says, muffled.

            “It’s okay, I got it,” Hansol says, rubbing his hand on Seungkwan’s thigh. “I mean, it kinda depends on what you count,” he says to the camera, “but for our first legit time, uhh, it was missionary, and—”

            “Oh, good lord,” Seungkwan says, shoving Hansol’s hand off him. He huffs, thinking how glad he is that his parents live on Jeju and don’t do anything with YouTube. “Fine. It was about a week and a half after we met. We were at his place, I had just finished my last final for the term and he had just reached three hundred thousand subscribers, and it was obvious that we both wanted to and we brought it up. So, he brought me to his bed and, um…” He shrugs, and he smiles despite his embarrassment about it. It’s one of his favorite memories. “It was lovely.”

            “ _He_ was lovely,” Hansol says. “He was beautiful.”

            It comes out quiet: “Hansol.”

            “You are. And it was in the afternoon too, so I could see him well, all of him, and—”

            “Okay, that’s—”

            “And the place smelled like fresh baked bread, and things inside me broke and clicked together all at the same time with him. He was…” He shakes his head.

            Seungkwan can’t help but smile at his knees, squeezing them together. “Same.”

            Hansol puts his hand back on Seungkwan’s thigh and looks at the list. “Favorite place to do it? You answer first, babe.”

            Seungkwan sighs and shrugs, speaking through his lips. “I mean…just the bed. You know I’m like…vanilla.”

            Hansol looks at the camera. “That’s so true. I like the bathtub.” He tilts his head at Seungkwan. “Him on top.”

            Seungkwan gasps. “Hansol!”

            “I mean, my favorite is the bed too, but if we’re talking favorite unusual place, definitely the bathtub. But him on top in bed is my all-time favorite. Though I don’t have a preference for forward or reverse cause there’s definitely great things about both.”

            “ _Hansol!_ ” Seungkwan attacks him, grabbing for his face to cover his mouth.

            Hansol laughs and gets away from it, then grins at Seungkwan. “That’ll make a _great_ cut, babe, good job.”

            “I’m going to kill you.”

            “Just kidding,” Hansol says at the lens. “I like forward, when I’m sitting up and we’re not quite at eye level with each other, and I can look up at him. He does this thing where he brushes my hair back from my face, runs his fingers through it. _That’s_ the best.”

            Seungkwan pouts his lips out. Hansol’s still getting murdered later, but that was really cute. Reminiscent of their first night ever being in Hansol’s place, the only night he was ever high with Hansol, it’s his favorite way too. He hums in distaste, but it’s only half real.

            “Sorry, babe,” Hansol says, smiling at him. “I’ll really cut that all out if you want.”

            Seungkwan sighs and crosses his arms. “No, it’s fine. It’s funny right?”

            “I really will if you’re uncomfortable with it.”

            Seungkwan shrugs one shoulder. “Are there any more?”

            Hansol looks at the list and nods. “Not like those. Only a little sexual. Only three more at all.”

            Seungkwan thinks for a second, then shrugs again. “It’s okay. Hit me.”

            Hansol grins. Even with as much complaining or pouting Seungkwan does, he’s still always down for almost anything—one of Hansol’s favorite things about him. “All right, next one, and then just two more, guys, cause it’s been like ten minutes already. Okay—something normal the other does that turns you on. So like, a non-sexual thing that you do?” he asks.

            Seungkwan nods. “Think so.”

            Hansol’s brows go down in thought. “Hm. Can I think for a second? There’s a lot.”

            Seungkwan clicks his tongue and waves a hand at him again. “Sure. Well…I like when Hansol sharpens his knives. Is that weird?” He looks at Hansol who’s half smiling, half thinking. Seungkwan tries not to laugh at that face. “He has this expensive knife set and it comes with a honing…” He trails off. “Stick.”

            “Steel,” Hansol says.

            “That one. And when he does the cool thing where he runs the carving knife back and forth on the steel really fast like on TV and it makes the sword sound—” He nods. “That’s pretty hot. When he’s in his element like that.”

            Hansol blinks out of his thoughts and says, “Plot twist, Kwannie has a knife kink.”

            Seungkwan gets wide eyed again. “Hansol!” He looks desperately at the camera. “I don’t. I swear. That’s scary.”

            Hansol chuckles at him. “Okay, I thought of mine. Watching you study.”

            Seungkwan lifts an eyebrow. “That turns you on?”

            “Well, not literally all of it, but—okay, when he’s studying, his face turns more and more into a pout as he reads and thinks, which is adorable—one of his quirks I love the most. But then there will be this moment where he understands something, like it clicks in his head, and his eyes will open bigger and he’ll nod a little, and once in a while he’ll go _ahh_ , and then he’ll quickly turn to his notebook and write whatever it is down.” He shakes his head. “That just gets me. So cute and so sexy.”

            Seungkwan just looks at him. “What.”

            Hansol nods. “I’m serious. And I also like when you go on your tiptoes to get something from the high cabinets. I don’t know why. I just really like it.”

            Seungkwan deadpans at him. “You know what, give me the phone.” Hansol laughs and hands it over. “Thank god this is almost done,” Seungkwan says. “Josh had it out for me with this. Okay—favorite thing about each other physically and not physically.”

            “That’s easy,” Hansol says. “Not physically, I love how brilliant Seungkwan is. And caring. And curious. And driven.”

            “And physically?” Seungkwan asks, blushing a little.

            “His butt.” Seungkwan saw that coming. “Hands down no arguments case closed. Best ass on the planet.”

            Seungkwan nods. “Okay. Great. Thank you for that. Anyway, I’m gonna go ahead and save the important stuff for last, so physically, I like…” He looks at Hansol as if he needs to in order to know. “Your eyes and your lashes. And also the way your legs curve out.”

            Hansol smiles. “Best legs on the planet?”

            Seungkwan laughs softly. “Sure. And not physically…” He sighs. “I love your kindness, never ending. I love how relaxed you are, which is really good for me.” He looks at the camera and says, “Honestly, he just doesn’t give a fuck about so many things—”

            Hansol makes a shocked face then grins over at Seungkwan, mouth open, and thinks he’ll zoom in on that too.

            “—which is just…I don’t know, it makes life so easy for me and for us as a couple,” Seungkwan says. “And he’s really patient, which is necessary for someone neurotic like me. And um…his outlook on life, no matter how he’s feeling in the moment. He’s an extremely positive person. And he’s really strong, and he’s very emotionally mature. And um…”

            “Kwannie,” Hansol says quietly.

            Seungkwan looks at him. “Mm?” He blinks. “Oh. Sorry.”

            Hansol smiles at him. “I freaking like you so much.”

            Seungkwan’s cheeks pink again. “Me too.”

            Hansol turns to the camera again and sighs. “All right, guys. This’ll be the last question, and I saw it just now, so…it’s gonna be a real one.”

            Seungkwan tilts his head, wondering what it is. What kind of story is there to tell?

            Hansol nods at the question, then reads it aloud. “What made you want to start your channel?”

            Seungkwan becomes very aware of things then—of himself in the chair and Hansol next to him, of the question Hansol just read, of the camera recording them right now. He nearly whispers, “Hansol, maybe we can just skip…”

            Hansol sighs. “It’s okay, babe. It’s about time, right?”

            “They don’t have to know.”

            “No, but I won’t tell them everything either. Just…enough. It’s time to get it totally off my chest.”

            Seungkwan looks at him. If this is what Hansol wants, then Hansol can do it. He knows Hansol is strong enough—after a year and half with him, he knows that very well. It’s his decision. “All right,” he says. He puts out his hand.

            Hansol smiles and takes it, then looks at the camera. “I started my channel because…” He pauses. “Actually, let me take it back a few steps. So, I’m from New York—you guys know that. I moved here to actually start college at UCLA. I met someone there, really early on, and we had this thing going for a few months. I’m…kind of a hopeless romantic, so I’ll just say that I was really into it, though it wasn’t quite reciprocated. And don’t worry.” He puts his free hand out. “Kwannie knows all of this. He’s actually the reason I…” He stops and smiles. “Well—so that happened. And this person was the one who introduced me to cannabis and to smoking. So, when we ended, I was still doing that stuff of course, and I was doing it a _lot_. Like, more than I ever made clear on camera. That was kind of why I started the channel—a reason to just get out of my head. That was when I started baking too—because I really liked it, but also as a way to have uniqueness on here because the online attention was something I liked too, since Jihoon—” He stops, and Seungkwan squeezes his hand. Hansol squeezes back and tries again. “Since this person and I ended in a way that really messed with me. We’re not on bad terms but…it was abrupt and a great distance in a very quick amount of time. So. I started my channel, and I ended up leaving college not because of grades but because of what happened. I couldn’t handle much of anything. So, in its pretty obvious way, it was self-medication for me—the channel and the concept behind it. Over time of course I did get better. What’s it called again, Kwannie?”

            Seungkwan smiles at him, at the way he always—when they’re with friends, or when he’s filming, or when they’re just alone together—he _always_ breaks his stories to say something to Seungkwan or ask him a question. “The positivity effect,” he says.

            Hansol nods. “Right. Over time sad things fade. And that happened, but it didn’t just go away and I continued to just get high all the time because it’s what I knew and it helped me at least to some degree, while I was doing it. I had to snap out of it, as Josh would say. He was probably the biggest help to me through more than a year of being whacked from the outside and the inside. He’s always had my back and I owe so much to him. And I know you’re watching, Josh, so thank you, seriously. And I also owe so much to Seungkwan, because he was the person that finally did it—that finally grabbed me and turned me to a mirror and showed me what was up. He asked me—and I’ll never forget this; it was before we even met face to face—he asked me what I was trying to get away from. And if that wasn’t a big slap in the face awakening, that not just Josh who knew my situation but an outsider looking in could _see_ something was wrong, then I don’t know what would have been.” He stops and looks at Seungkwan. “We met that day, right?”

            Seungkwan nods. “Mhm.”

            “It was the day after I posted that stupid yet fateful video.” He laughs, and Seungkwan shakes his head. It’s a fond memory now. “We messaged,” Hansol continues, “and I was a fool and he still said yes to meeting me for some reason, which now I know is because he’s…a really, really good person. With a _House_ complex where he has to know the reason for everything.” Seungkwan laughs and nudges him, making him smile. “Which I’m incredibly thankful for. We met, and then met again that night. We, um…talked for a while and I told him about it all, about what happened back then. In hindsight, it seems kind of sad that for more than a year I made such a big deal—”

            “But it’s not,” Seungkwan says, looking sternly at Hansol. “You don’t have to…” He sighs. He squeezes Hansol’s hand again and looks at the camera. “You don’t have to prove yourself. Pain is relative. What hurts one person may not hurt another, and what’s a tiny scratch to someone might be a gash for someone else. It’s about perspective and experience, and about _you_ as a highly unique individual. I’ve had my pains, Hansol’s had his pains, our friends, all of you have had _something_. It doesn’t matter if it’s a big or small thing because in this, big and small doesn’t exist. Pain is pain, whatever way you perceive it. It doesn’t need explanation or proof. What matters is it exists, it happened or it is happening, and any pain is deserving of help.”

            “So _find_ help if you need it,” Hansol says. “I’d still be stuck in the same freaking place if Josh hadn’t held me up and Seungkwan hadn’t found me and made me want to start trying again. Find someone—a friend or a loved one or a therapist if you can. Don’t go it alone. That might work sometimes but…people matter. Find happiness in yourself but also in other people, okay? And big or small doesn’t exist there either.” He looks at Seungkwan. “If you just feel happy, that’s happiness, I think.”

            Seungkwan smiles, and Hansol leans over to kiss his cheek, and then Seungkwan holds his jaw to turn him and kiss his mouth once. “So, so proud,” Seungkwan says. Hansol kisses him again. This part will be cut out.

            When he leans back in his chair, Hansol draws in a breath and says, “Yeah. Well, this got kinda deep, eh?” He tilts his head at Seungkwan. “See why I like him so much? So, that was kind of long and I don’t know if I really answered the question but I hope it kind of…made some more stuff make sense? And if I seem different now, then that’s part of it too. Y’all have probably wondered about how I’ve changed in the past year and a half, how the channel only changed a bit but I’ve become a different person. Well, I am one, so. And I don’t think YouTube needs any more explanation than that.” He smiles and rests their hands just above Seungkwan’s knee. “I think that’ll be it for this video, huh babe?”

            Right away, Seungkwan starts Hansol’s outro, putting the T out with his fingers. Hansol laughs and joins in, and then Seungkwan watches, very simply happy, as Hansol stands up to turn off the camera.

 

**Part 3: Graduversary**

The brass metalwork overlaying the black door could fool new customers or passersby into thinking that the shop beyond it will be equally ornate and renaissance, Seungkwan thinks. But having been here multiple times with Hansol since they got together, just to stock up on supplies for the channel, he knows that’s completely wrong. The moment Hansol opens the door for him as they walk up, pulling back the brass and black to reveal darker black and the grating whisper of music, Seungkwan knows exactly the place he’s stepping into.

            “After you,” Hansol says, waving him through the threshold.

            Seungkwan bows to him and unzips his jacket as he goes into the darkness of the short hallway. It sounds like the avant-garde genre of metal today. Could be worse. Hansol follows him in, and the door shuts the light out for the brief moment that it takes Seungkwan to find the second door and push his way through.

            The air becomes full of that familiar earthy scent, and the music becomes the usual drone of guitars and screaming and experimental song structure—the kind Japanese groups play in closed off arenas in Tokyo. Wonwoo always did have a preference for non-American bands.

            Seungkwan puts out his arms and grins in greeting, and Wonwoo smiles at him from behind the counter. “Boo!” Seungkwan says, the music just low enough that he doesn’t have to shout.

            “Boo is right,” Wonwoo says, walking over to them in black on black that’s somehow completely different from Seungcheol: V-neck shirt with swirled black velvet patterns that lets his Descartes tattoo peek through, destroyed black skinny jeans, multiple silver necklaces and panto-frame glasses to match, and blood red shadow so close to his lashes you can hardly tell it’s there. He was the first guy Hansol ever knew who wore makeup until he met Soonyoung. Wonwoo’s aesthetic, opposite Seokmin’s store, was the other half of Hansol’s inspiration for his dream. Wonwoo is a brand of cool Hansol only wishes he could exude.

            Wonwoo meets Seungkwan and they do the quick five-step handshake they made up a year ago. “And Chwe,” he adds. “Package deal. Aren’t you a little early for more?”

            Hansol laughs and goes to put his arm around Seungkwan, but Seungkwan hangs onto Wonwoo’s shoulders instead, poking his tongue out at his boyfriend. “Still feels weird to be asked that after being here, like, every couple days for over a year.” He raises an eyebrow at Seungkwan.

            “Well, something’s bringing you in,” Wonwoo says, and pats Seungkwan’s waist.

            “Gift for a friend,” Seungkwan says, looking up at him.

            “Ahh.” Wonwoo nods. “You did mention something about Soonyoung’s graduation.”

            “True,” Hansol says, walking over to go behind the counter and pick up one of the clown masks Wonwoo has hanging from the wire mesh on the black wall. He stares it in the face and says, “But it’s their anniversary, too. Two years. Some of your finest Jules Vernon for the man who wants no gifts.”

            Seungkwan lets Wonwoo go back behind the counter to take the mask from Hansol and hang it back up on the wall, centering it delicately. “My space, Chwe.”

            Hansol tucks his shoulders up in his red hoodie and runs back around to stand with Seungkwan. “Just a couple grams,” he says, leaning onto the black laminate.

            “No gifts sounds like not Soonyoung,” Wonwoo says.

            Seungkwan snorts. “You know him too well for having met him one time.” When Soonyoung came in here a couple months ago with them when Hansol was stocking up, he gasped at the décor, the music, the _black everything_ , as he said in a soft breath. Seungkwan was afraid Soonyoung was going to turn his nose up in distaste and be accidentally offensive, but instead he turned to Wonwoo and gushed over how much he loved the concept and how well it fits Wonwoo’s aura. Typical Soonyoung.

            “I got a pretty good idea about him when we met,” Wonwoo says, eyes calm but brows up. “Just a couple grams for Seungcheol, then?” he asks Hansol.

            Hansol nods, knocking on the counter to the beat of screamo. “That’s all.”

            Wonwoo nods and turns to a drawer behind him, pulling out a key ring with a jingle. “So how’s the thing coming?”

            Seungkwan tilts his head, looking at Hansol. What thing?

            Hansol grins. “Awesome. Real soon.”

            “Sweet.” Wonwoo kneels down and opens the temperature-controlled unit under the counter where he keeps his strains.

            Seungkwan turns slowly to Hansol. “What thing?” Hansol just glances at him, then starts chewing on his lip. “Hansol, what thing.”

            Hansol smiles nervously.

            Wonwoo stands up with a tiny black velvet drawstring bag and holds it out. Hansol’s eyes get big at it. “Only the finest,” Wonwoo says.

            Hansol _wahh_ s and takes it in his fingers. “This is freaking _fancy_.”

            Seungkwan reaches into his hands and brushes the velvet with his fingertip. Super soft, super over the top. Soonyoung will adore it after the party’s over. He’ll probably keep his jewelry in it.

            “You told me to gift wrap it, didn’t you?” Wonwoo says.

            Hansol grins at him. “Thanks, man.”

            “On the house.”

            Hansol frowns. “You sure?”

            “As a congrats,” Wonwoo says. “To your friends, of course,” he adds as if it wouldn’t have been obvious.

            Hansol points at him, doing his weird sideways smile, and Seungkwan knows something is up. What are they not telling him? And why does Wonwoo know but not him?

            But then Hansol eyes the bag again. “Wait, this _is_ Jules Vernon, right?”

            Wonwoo smiles and leans in a power pose onto the counter. “It’s been a year and a half and you still spot check me every few weeks.”

            “I can’t have my boyfriend’s best friend’s boyfriend getting whacked at his anniversary party,” Hansol says, and Seungkwan wonders how he makes that stuff come out sensible so smoothly.

            Wonwoo pauses. “Maybe tell him to wait until the party’s over then.”

            Hansol laughs and hangs his head. “Damn it, Wonwoo.” He shakes his head at him. “Thanks, man. You’re really sure?”

            “Hundred percent. I’ll see you guys later?”

            “Totally.” Hansol tilts his head to lead Seungkwan out.

            “Bye, Wonwoo!” Seungkwan says and starts to follow. “Thanks for keeping secrets from me!”

            “That’s your boyfriend’s fault,” Wonwoo calls.

            “He’s right,” Hansol says as they walk back to the hallway out, then calls back, “See you, man.”

            Seungkwan waves behind them, and Hansol opens the doors into the sunlight. Seungkwan threads his arm through Hansol’s to hold onto him. He smiles and says through his teeth, “I better find out real quick,” and digs his fingers into Hansol’s arm.

            Hansol reacts dramatically, hissing and opening his mouth. “ _Ah_ , babe. Okay okay, I’ll tell you.” Seungkwan releases him and puts up his eyebrows. Hansol holds the little velvet bag up by his chest in both hands. “At the party,” he squeaks out.

            Seungkwan smacks his shoulder. “I’m keeping this in mind. And it better be good.”

            “It is,” Hansol says, holding his wound. “I promise.” He holds out the velvet. “Can you keep watch of this on Chwe BonBon?”

            Seungkwan tries really hard not to roll his eyes at the name of that ridiculous thing. Hansol’s most recent purchase, after spending three months doing two work assignments a week to make a couple thousand extra, was a motorcycle—a classic black Triumph Bonneville, completely against Seungkwan’s wishes. At least he managed to talk Hansol out of the one that he insisted was “copper” but was really just orange. And besides—he won’t admit that he actually loves riding it with Hansol, now that he knows Hansol’s quite a stable driver, and that his boyfriend happens to look really hot on the stupid thing. Seungkwan has caught multiple girls looking at him when he’s pulled up outside the dorm hall before, and he’s loved every moment of going out to Hansol and kissing him obviously for them all to see. Sometimes Hansol even puts a gloved hand on his ass for good measure. Typical Hansol.

            He sighs and takes the bag, and Hansol grins and prances over to his motorcycle. “Hop on, babe,” he calls, patting the seat.

            Seungkwan accidentally laughs and climbs up behind him, tucking the not Jules Vernon into his inner jacket pocket and zipping himself up. “You say that every time as if I’m just going to watch you ride off without me.”

            Hansol snaps the wrists of his gloves closed and pulls on his helmet, turning to Seungkwan to hand him his. He flips down his tinted visor for effect and says, “At least I’d look cool doing it.”

            Seungkwan hits the side of Hansol’s helmet with a polycarbonate _thwack_.

            “Babe!”

            Seungkwan pulls on his blue helmet and wraps his arms around Hansol’s waist. “Let’s go, you freaking hottie. We have to get to Cheol’s before everyone else so we can let them in.”

            Hansol gives Seungkwan’s hand a squeeze over his midsection. “Hold tight to that stuff. Probably cost more than half my left kidney.”

            Seungkwan snorts. “You are so bizarre. It’s safe. Cheol’s going to love it, and I’m sure Soonyoung will too. They’re gonna…” He stops and grimaces behind his visor. “Oh god, I don’t even want to know.”

            Hansol laughs. “Well, whatever it is they’re gonna do,” he kicks on the engine and it rumbles loudly to life, “we should move in together.”

            Seungkwan’s stomach bursts into frantic butterflies. Did he hear that right? “ _Huh?_ ” he calls out.

            “I said we should try it!” Hansol shouts.

            Seungkwan frowns. “No you—” Hansol starts pulling out of the parking lot and the engine drowns out Seungkwan’s voice. He holds Hansol tight. “Hansol!”

            “I’m riding away now!” Hansol shouts, and Seungkwan has no time to respond before they pull onto the road towards Seungcheol’s apartment across town.

 

“I’m late for being early,” Joshua says when Seungkwan opens the door for him. He’s holding a square box wrapped in pearlescent white paper with a big pink bow tied around it and a little pink envelope tucked underneath.

            Seungkwan opens his mouth at it. “Wow, you really got it when I said make it pretty. I wish I had that paper.”

            “I found it online—isn’t it cute?” Joshua says, walking into Seungcheol’s apartment after Seungkwan waves him.

            “He’ll adore it,” Seungkwan says, taking it from him to put on the coffee table with all the rest. “And you’re just in time to help set up the food before the lovebirds get here. You remember us talking about Minghao, right?”

            Minghao looks up from a glass wine chiller at the bar counter where he’s placing a bottle of rosé (because Soonyoung doesn’t like champagne and “the pink is prettier”) and smiles at Joshua. “Really nice to meet you.” He puts his hand out and Joshua gives it a firm, businessman kind of shake.

            “The guys tell me you’re out in Hong Kong working with Third Bridge?” Joshua says. and Minghao begins telling him about it. Seungkwan already knew they’d get along right away—Joshua may be a ukulele Starbucks beach boy, but he still comes from a business-oriented family. He’ll have a lot more to talk about with Minghao regarding, like, the global economy and stuff.

            Seungkwan smiles at them and looks for a moment around the room now that everyone is here. He and Hansol arrived an hour and a half ahead as planned to get the room situated and to check to make sure all of Hansol’s desserts had made it safely to Seungcheol’s refrigerator, and that the dacquoise had been hidden away so as not to accidentally trigger Soonyoung if he happened to go for a glass of water when he arrives. They put their presents—Seungkwan’s two boxes, and Hansol’s octagonal prism, all wrapped in Easter yellow paper with white sprinkles patterned on it—onto the coffee table, and Hansol hid away the black velvet bag in the pocket of his hoodie. That one won’t be given out in front of everyone else. Minghao arrived first, carrying a bunch of fruit and his small present in galaxy wrapping, which Seungkwan complimented. Then Seokmin and Jeonghan arrived with their present wrapped completely in blue with curled blue ribbon just like the ones on every Mason jar Hansol buys, and a bag full of gold decorations. Now, while Minghao and Joshua are finishing setting up all the foods aside from the cake, Jeonghan is up on his tiptoes on a stool, hanging shimmery golden tinsel and strings of little golden baubles from the ceiling fan (which hangs down enough from the high ceiling to actually reach) out in a ray to the tops of the cabinets to create a sort of golden web over the kitchen area. Seokmin’s eyebrows are worried, his hands up by Jeonghan’s hips, and he’s spewing out quiet words of _Oh my god be careful_ and _Hannie, don’t lean like that_ to his still unofficial boyfriend, though they wear promise rings for each other. Jeonghan is just laughing down at him saying he’s fine, but Seokmin doesn’t look like he believes him. As for Seungkwan’s part in setting up, he happily took on the role of moderator.

            He rounds the counter to kneel down next to Hansol who’s crouched on the floor with scissors in his hand. “Have you figured it out yet?”

            Hansol sighs and puts the scissors down. He has two banners of gold letters and has cut them both in half by syllables. “Well, I figured I could do graduversary or anniation. Which one?” He looks curiously up at Seungkwan.

            Seungkwan smiles and brushes a piece of his bangs from his eyes. “Take a guess, babe.”

            Hansol snorts. “Right. Duh. Anniation it is.”

            Seungkwan kisses Hansol’s head, and Hansol picks up the first half of GRADUATION and the second half of ANNIVERSARY to tie the two together so they can hang it up under HAPPY on the wall. And after that, everything is pretty much done.

            Seungkwan goes to the coffee table and arranges the presents, stacking them in a way Soonyoung will most likely enjoy. It’s a good haul—five or six total, depending on if the pink envelope Joshua brought is a card or a gift card—and he’s sure Seungcheol already gave Soonyoung his presents too, and vice versa. Although, even with how materialistic Soonyoung can sometimes be, he’d be happy without presents, just because all his friends are here. The only one who couldn’t make it was Jun, who’s in Shenzhen visiting his grandparents for the holidays. He promised to send something over as a graduation/anniversary/Christmas present from him and his family.

            Seungkwan puts his hands on his hips and scans the room one more time, happy with how nicely everything turned out for this party. Soonyoung and Seungcheol should be here any minute now.

            Over at the wall next to the big landscape window, Hansol is taping GRADUVERSARY up in a gentle golden arc. Seungkwan watches Joshua go up to him, waiting for a moment for Hansol to turn to him before he says something. They embrace then, Hansol hugging Joshua tight and Joshua rubbing his back a little, a clear _Thank you, Josh_ on Hansol’s lips. Seungkwan assumes Josh watched the video then, after Hansol posted it last night. He’s known since their first night together just how much Joshua means to Hansol, but Joshua never fails to show how much Hansol means to him too. Everything about this moment—the beautiful late morning light coming through the huge window, the decorations and the smell of food, his friends all smiling and talking together, the hug between the two best friends he knows of besides him and Soonyoung—everything makes his heart feel _good_. The only thing that’ll make it reach peak warmth is—

            A precise three knocks come from the door. Everyone stops and looks over. “Are we all ready?” Seungkwan asks in a harsh whisper. They all nod to him, and then Hansol makes big flapping motions so everyone looks at the banner for what to say. They confirm, so Seungkwan goes for the door in a dramatic tiptoe, though this technically isn’t a surprise party. But the decorations and the overall ambiance are, and the sudden appearance of Minghao from halfway across the world will be a cool thing too.

            Seungkwan pulls open the door, and they let out a chorus of, “Happy graduversary!”

            It’s almost as if Soonyoung didn’t remember this was supposed to be happening, because for a moment he just stands there in his low-rise jeans that show his V, his turquoise-stone piercing with the chain that wraps around his hips and back, and that same maroon crop top he’s had forever, his leather jacket slung over his arm and his lips in a surprised little O. Maybe he forgot. Or maybe he’s just playing along.

            His face lights up an instant later, and he practically jumps into the room, gasping at the gold over the kitchen and the food and the presents. He says a loud, “Ahh!” and then gives Seungkwan a massive hug.

            Seungkwan laughs and hugs him back. “Everyone’s here,” he says, and when Soonyoung pulls back to grin at him, Seungkwan steps out of the way.

            Soonyoung waves and says, “Hi, everybody.” And then he just pauses, and his smile fades. He drops his jacket and runs across the floor of Seungcheol’s apartment to throw himself into Minghao’s arms, squealing every moment. “Hao! What the heck are you doing here!”

            “How could I miss your graduation?” Minghao says in his calm voice that sounds even wiser now that he’s been away working for two years. “And happy anniversary, too.”

            Soonyoung gives him a big kiss on the cheek and a massive grin. As he starts going to everyone else to dole out his hugs, Seungkwan turns to Seungcheol closing the door. “I guess he likes it, huh?”

            Seungcheol crosses his arms and looks fondly over at his boyfriend of two years, that easy smile on his lips. “He’ll be happy for weeks. Thank you, Seungkwan.”

            More like a lifetime, Seungkwan thinks. Soonyoung is just a happy person. He smiles back at Seungcheol, and they both join the group. Everyone finishes greetings, Seungcheol giving Hansol a bro shake and another business handshake to Minghao. Soonyoung bounds over to Seungkwan’s side and bounces on his toes. “Kwannie. I love this.”

            Seungkwan smiles at him. “Well, happy graduversary. Finally done with college—and you’ve got a real yoga license now. And, like, a pretty cool boyfriend of two years.”

            Soonyoung scrunches a smile at him and nudges him with his shoulder.

            “Do you want to do food or what?” Seungkwan asks, partially hoping it’s a yes.

            Soonyoung hums for a second, then turns to the group. “Would it be okay if we do presents first? I’m kind of excited.”

            Hansol makes a face. “It’s your party, Soonyoung.” Seungkwan’s stomach hates that his boyfriend is right.

            “Shall we open the rosé and sit down?” Minghao offers. “It’s a twenty-fifteen _Chateau d’Esclans Garrus_ ,” he says in a nice French accent.

            “Oh my god, yes _please_ ,” Joshua begs. “You managed a good rosé?”

            “Cheol’s pick,” Hansol says.

            Joshua looks at Seungcheol like he’s just learned a whole new side to him.

            “All right, come on,” Seungkwan says, leading the pack to the chilled wine.

            He helps Soonyoung bring champagne flutes down for everyone from the cabinet (of course Seungcheol has a full dinner set of every glass or dish they could need) and they grab plates for later too. Minghao does proper wine service for each glass, not letting a single drop spill down the side of the bottle, and soon the bottle is almost empty and everyone has a pretty glass of jewel pink in their fingers. Seungcheol assures everyone there’s another bottle in the fridge if they need it, and they all get situated at the couches surrounding the coffee table—Seokmin and Jeonghan on the first love seat, Seungcheol, Soonyoung, Seungkwan, and Hansol on the full size, and Joshua and Minghao opposite the unofficial couple.

            “So,” Seungkwan says, rosé flute in his fingers. “Since Seungcheol gets absolutely no gifts today for some reason…” He forces himself not to look at Hansol, who he knows is already smiling too much—he never was a good liar. “Shall we start with Soonyoung or Soonyoung?”

            Soonyoung raises his hand high. “Ooh, pick me.” He giggles and asks, “Do I just pick one?”

            Seungkwan nods. “If your present gets picked, please indicate yourself by saying your name.”

            Soonyoung puts his glass on the table then makes a show of waving his hand over the pile of presents like a magician over a top hat. He lands on the pearly box with the pink bow and holds it up, looking around.

            “Joshua,” Joshua says, raising his hand to his shoulder.

            “I picked it first because it’s gorgeous,” Soonyoung says, leaning toward him and hugging the box. “You know me.”

            Joshua smiles. “Do the card first.”

            Soonyoung grins and pulls the little pink envelope out from under the ribbon. Tearing it open, he slides out a familiar green gift card. He gasps. “Starbucks!” He flips it over and his eyes get big. “ _Wah_ , fifty dollars? That’s so much!” He sends a glimmering stare to Joshua. “I love you. Thank you.”

            “Of course. Hopefully it’ll help with the other thing,” Joshua says before sipping his rosé.

            Soonyoung puts the gift card on the empty half of the table and sets the box on his knees. “What is it?” He unties the pink ribbon, setting it on Seungcheol’s thigh next to him, then carefully pulls up the tape on the paper. He gasps again when the box inside is revealed.

            Seungkwan looks at the picture on the box: a glass teapot, beautifully etched with vines around the body of it. Soonyoung is all about the healing powers of different kinds of tea. He sends mental kudos to Josh—he really is a solid gifter.

            “It has its own steeper built in,” Joshua says.

            Soonyoung stares at the picture. “Oh my god, Josh, it’s even prettier than the paper.”

            “Is it etched?” Seokmin asks.

            Soonyoung nods fast. He hugs the box again, then puts it with his gift card. “I’m using it tonight. Chamomile. And I’ll get loose earl grey from Starbucks—” He gasps and smacks Seungcheol’s thigh. “Let’s go tomorrow, baby.”

            Seungcheol hums and nods to him, folding the pretty paper to put on the table with the ribbon on top. “Thanks, Josh. Really cool.”

            Joshua sends the two a nod back.

            “Another,” Hansol says, lifting his glass into the air.

            Soonyoung squeals and wiggles his fingers magically over the presents again. “Mmm…somebody knows I like small presents.” He picks up the little box wrapped in galaxy paper.

            “Minghao.” He raises his glass up. “I couldn’t remember if it was tiny boxes or big boxes.”

            “Both,” Soonyoung says. “But tiny are cuter.” He peels off the paper to reveal a lidded box, cream colored. He tilts his head, handing the paper over to Seungcheol, then takes the lid off.

            Seungkwan leans close to him to look. “ _Oooh_.”

            “Oh, pretty,” Jeonghan comments. Seungkwan looks at Seokmin’s hand on his thigh and wonders why he can’t just say the freaking B word.

            “It’s tiger’s eye,” Minghao explains. “It symbolizes strength and release from anxiety, and aids harmony and balance. There are two studs and two drop earrings, and then there’s another hoop. Last I knew you only had three ear piercings, so I suppose there are extras.”

            Soonyoung touches one of the stud earrings with his pinky—a pretty, deep brownish-orange with a streak of gold through the middle of each stone. “I love them. Seriously.” He looks up at Minghao. “Thank you. I actually got my second hole done on the left, so it’s just the hoop after that. Baby?” He looks up at Seungcheol.

            Seungcheol lifts his eyebrows as he sips his rosé, his other arm over the back of the couch behind Soonyoung. “Hm?”

            “Can we go to the parlor tomorrow? I want a helix for the extra one.”

            Seungcheol nods again. He really has always been the kind of guy to spoil Soonyoung, Seungkwan thinks, and he used to be jealous of that. But now he has it too, of a slightly different kind. Where Seungcheol buys Soonyoung whatever he wants, Hansol cooks Seungkwan whatever he wants. It’s kind of terrible for the both of them, because Soonyoung is practically a hoarder (his yoga room in this apartment is full of all the stuff he brought from his old place when he moved in—including Kwon BonBon, thriving) and because Seungkwan wants to manage his weight—though Hansol seems to like every millimeter of him no matter what. He blushes thinking about Valentine’s Day.

            “They’re awesome,” he says to Minghao.

            “I thought the meaning was interesting,” Minghao says.

            Soonyoung nods a bunch. “It is. I’ll put them in tomorrow when I get the other piercing done. We can all take a picture together.” He closes the box and sets it on the coffee table. “I’m gonna go with this funny looking one next,” he says, and picks up the prism wrapped in yellow and sprinkles.

            “Oh! Hansol! That’s mine!” Hansol points at himself over and over again. Seungkwan watches the rosé in his glass tremble and is thankful Seungcheol has leather couches. “That’s me. I got that,” Hansol insists.

            “First off, I love the shape,” Soonyoung says, holding a hand out at him. “How did you manage to wrap it?”

            “Oh, it was easy,” Hansol says. “First you get the paper, and you measure and cut the right size, and then you hand it to Seungkwan.”

            Seungkwan kicks his foot while Soonyoung giggles.

            “Well done. What is it?” Soonyoung asks.

            Seungkwan clicks his tongue. “Open it.”

            Soonyoung scrunches his nose at him and opens the top of the prism, peeling back the paper. “Wait, oh my god. How many are in here?”

            “Six,” Hansol says proudly.

            Soonyoung pulls the top one out—purple Fenty highlighter. “I literally just hit pan on my other one.” He eyes Hansol. “Are YouTubers psychics?”

            Hansol laughs. “Nah, I had some help. Kwannie took me to Sephora and after the lady insisted on putting some on me, which looked great, I just picked out a bunch of colors.”

            “Is the champagne color in there? That’s the one I use,” Jeonghan says.

            “There’s a pink, gold, the purple, white, and two lighter orangey shades,” Hansol says.

            Jeonghan nods. “It’s there. Those will look so good on you, Soonyoung.”

            Soonyoung smiles at them both. “Thank you. Well done again, Hansol. Gold will be stunning with the new jewelry. And I’m putting some Confetti on you later.”

            Hansol bows. Seungkwan watches the rosé almost pour out this time, and he’s glad Seungcheol has hardwood floors too.

            “Just to _not_ open the same paper twice in a row,” Soonyoung says, putting the highlighters on the table, “I’m going with blue next, and I feel like I know who it’s from.” He picks up the rectangular box.

            “Jeonghan,” Seokmin says, grinning.

            Jeonghan smacks his thigh back. _Seriously_ , Seungkwan thinks. _Boyfriends_. “It’s from both of us,” Jeonghan says.

            Seokmin grabs Jeonghan’s hand to hold. “But it was Hannie’s idea.”

            Soonyoung unwraps it and pulls out a long wooden box. Opening the lid, he reveals five compartments of loose-leaf tea, protected by a plastic cover sheet with the names of each tea over the boxes.

            “You’re kidding,” Joshua says. He looks at Jeonghan and puts up his hand, and Jeonghan gives an air five back.

            “Uh, that’s freaking perfect,” Soonyoung says. He reads off the list of teas to himself and then sighs. “Just kidding—tonight is mango black instead of chamomile. Thank you so much, you guys,” he says, leaning to look at the not-couple.

            “It’s not much in each one, but we figured the box is reusable,” Jeonghan says, “and you can put whatever tea you’d like in there when they run out.”

            “Definitely. We have just the space for it in the kitchen.” Soonyoung puts the box down with the other opened gifts and looks at the last two presents. “Are these both from Seungkwan?” he asks, as if he didn’t know the answer already.

            Coincidence that they’re last, or maybe Seungkwan arranged them that way on purpose. “Yeah,” Seungkwan says, blushing a little. “Do the cube first, then the flatter one.”

            “All right, bossy.” Seungkwan makes a face at him, but Soonyoung does as he says, taking the wrapping off the cube-shaped present. “Oh! I forgot I wanted this!”

            Seungkwan tries not to deadpan at him. It wasn’t super easy to find an actual, legitimate Polaroid camera. “You said you wanted to take cute fuzzy pictures.”

            Soonyoung nods at him. “I do. It’s perfect, and we’re going to the beach this weekend so I can take pictures of you wearing my fluffy white sweater. Thank you, lovely.”

            Seungkwan sighs. “All right. Well, in that vein, do the next one.”

            Soonyoung tilts his head at Seungkwan as Seungcheol hands him the final present and takes the camera from him. Soonyoung looks at the box in his hands as he starts peeling off the tape. “If this is a bunch of photo refills, you should have let me open this first, Kwan.”

            Seungkwan chuckles, but his voice comes out kind of quiet. “Just hush and open it, Kwon.”

            Soonyoung pokes his tongue out at him. When he gets the lid off the box and opens the pastel yellow tissue paper Seungkwan used inside, the smile fades from his face. “Seungkwan, it’s beautiful.” He runs his fingertips over the fuzzy sunflower on the pink cover of the photo album. “Where did you find it?”

            “Online,” Seungkwan says. “It’s handmade. Open it.”

            Soonyoung looks over at him for a moment, surprised, as if he expected the gift to just be an empty album for future photos. He opens the cover of the album and sees the photo of the two of them, that first one they ever took on Soonyoung’s bed in his parents’ house. The note Seungkwan sealed with a tiny gold star is underneath it. The corners of Soonyoung’s lips curve downward, but he tries to stop them. “Kwannie, oh my gosh.”

            “A hundred sixty. From then until now,” Seungkwan says.

            “That’s amazing,” Joshua says softly, and Jeonghan leans forward a bit to see.

            Soonyoung turns slowly through a few pages, but then his face starts to scrunch into an ugly squish of his features and his eyes close up. Seungkwan smiles and leans into his side, and Seungcheol rubs his leg.

            “Don’t cry, baby,” Seungcheol says. And then he leans past Soonyoung to look at Seungkwan and mouths _Thank you._

            Seungkwan nods back.

            Soonyoung closes the album and waves his hands at his face, composing himself. “I’ll look at it later, Seungkwan. Thank you so much.”

            He pulls Seungkwan into a hug, and Seungkwan relaxes into it, wrapping his arms around Soonyoung for the moment. When he pulls back and Soonyoung places the present carefully atop all the others in his pile, Hansol rests his hand on Seungkwan’s knee and squeezes. Seungkwan turns to him and smiles.

            “Seungcheol.”

            They all look at him after he says his own name. Soonyoung, apples of his cheeks still red, shakes his head at him almost imperceptibly. “Baby, no. You already got me…” He trails off as Seungcheol leans forward from his place on the sofa to set down his glass, then pulls open one of the drawers of the coffee table. He takes out a flat jewelry box, shiny with a dark cobalt satin cloth.

            “Seungcheol,” Soonyoung says again, following it with his eyes.

            “It doesn’t match the other ones,” Seungcheol says. “But…” He holds the box out in two hands.

            Soonyoung looks up at him as if he’s unsure, but when Seungcheol just smiles at him, he takes it. He opens the clamshell lid and gazes at what’s inside—a tiny oval locket, the silver chain delicate in the light from the window. Wordlessly, he pulls it from the box and takes the charm in his fingers, opening it with his nail. An even tinier gemstone falls out, connected by extremely fine chains to the two sides of the locket—a single sparkle of deep emerald. The left side of the locket has the date of their meeting two years ago, December, and the right has their initials in dainty cursive.

            “It’s the moonstone from that night and location,” Seungcheol says. “Remember?”

            Seungkwan recalls that night—not that he was there, but the parts Soonyoung has told him. Their first date the evening of the day Soonyoung went up to Seungcheol in that J.Crew. It was cold for LA, sixty degrees maybe. They went to dinner and a pier farther away from Santa Monica, where there were far fewer people. Seungkwan doesn’t remember if Soonyoung shared many details with him, but he has a strong image in his mind of the two of them alone, leaning against the railing of the pier after the sun had already set, silhouetted in cutouts from the light of the moon. Their first kiss was that night. The rest, Soonyoung kept to himself.

            By the look in Soonyoung’s eyes when he gazes up at Seungcheol, holding the tiny locket on his tiny fingertips, Seungkwan understands that there was a lot more to that night than he can ever know from stories. He knows exactly what that’s like.

            He takes a quick glance at Hansol, and Hansol smiles and leans over to kiss his temple.

            Very carefully, Soonyoung replaces the gemstone in the locket, the necklace in the box, the box onto the table. He turns back to Seungcheol and grabs his face in the gentlest way possible to kiss him over and over again.

            “I love you, Soonyoung,” Seungcheol says.

            “I love you, Seungcheol.”

            “ _So_ , uh—” Seungkwan says, and the two of them stop and look at him, Seungcheol unfazed by anything besides Soonyoung, Soonyoung grinning huge. Seungkwan laughs and hides it by clearing his throat. “Well, I guess that’s done with presents then.”

            “Should we food?” Joshua asks.

            Seungkwan is about to second that when Seungcheol says, “Actually, really quick.” He places his hand on its favorite place on Soonyoung’s thigh, rubbing with his thumb. “We have an announcement to make.”

            When Seungkwan meets Soonyoung’s eyes, Soonyoung smiles. Something in it seems very sad, and it start to push into Seungkwan’s chest.

            Hansol gasps. “You’re pregnant.”

            Soonyoung breaks the gaze to laugh at Hansol, and Seungkwan smacks his boyfriend.

            “You’re not?” Hansol says, chuckling. Seungkwan pushes his leg.

            “Actually,” Seungcheol says, and everyone quiets back down. “After my probationary internship, I’ve been accepted for full-time employment with my team.”

            “Dude,” Joshua says.

            “That’s great!” Seokmin says.

            Seungcheol nods. “Thank you. So, since Soonyoung is officially a graduate, we’ll be travelling around the country together for next season starting in April.”

            While the rest of their friends start to congratulate Seungcheol, Seungkwan and Soonyoung just look at each other again. Seungkwan conveys something like, _Soonyoung, this is…this is great._ But Soonyoung just looks like, _Seungkwan…_

            “It’s okay,” Seungkwan says, so only Soonyoung can hear. His smile matches Soonyoung’s from before. “This is such an opportunity. I’m really happy for you.”

            “The _Dodgers_?” Minghao asks. “That’s legitimate National League.”

            “That’s insane,” Jeonghan says, and Seokmin asks, “So you’re literally their physical therapist now? Like actually?”

            “Athletic trainer, travel version,” Seungcheol says. “And for now, I’ll be working with an actual doctor. I’ll finish up my Master’s online while I’ve got the job.”

            “Hey, guys?” Joshua says. “Not to dampen anything, but—I kind of have an announcement too.”

            “Oh my god,” Hansol says, waving a hand at him. “Right, you haven’t told everyone.”

            Joshua smiles. “So, thanks to Hansol having weird connections with indie film companies, and therefore my couple of mini jobs since my graduation, I’ve finally been accepted into a Master’s program for my phonetics specialization.”

            “Which is?” Minghao asks.

            “Prosody,” Joshua says. “Which is speech melody and rhythm. I’ll be working with global accents on the English language.”

            “Josh has always wanted to be an accent coach,” Hansol tells Minghao. “Like, for actors.”

            Minghao makes a face like he’s impressed, and Soonyoung lights up at Joshua.

            “Congratulations,” Jeonghan says.

            “I always thought that was really cool,” Seungkwan adds, mindlessly messing with one of Hansol’s hands.

            “Can I join in on the announcements?” Minghao asks.

            “You too?” Soonyoung says.

            Minghao chuckles. “Well, I’ve also been accepted for full-time employment with Third Bridge. They’re considering having me be a member of the New York office.”

            Hansol’s mouth gets huge. “Hey, NYC!”

            “You’ll be closer to us!” Soonyoung exclaims.

            Minghao laughs again. “It’s not set in stone yet, but they said they’ve been looking for someone for a few months now and they’re happy with my work so far.”

            Soonyoung squeals. “You’re coming to the states!”

            “Um—” Seungkwan puts up a hand. “Does my thing count as an announcement?” he asks, and both Hansol and Soonyoung, who already know, nod at him. He smiles. “So, my professor really liked my term paper this past semester, so he took it to the department and now the university wants to publish it in their social sciences student journal.”

            Joshua’s eyes get bigger. “Seriously? That’s awesome—we worked hard on that.”

            Hansol turns his hand over and grabs Seungkwan’s with it, locking their fingers together.

            The paper was close to a thesis, really, though he’ll have to write a new one or expand for his actual honors senior thesis. But where his professor only asked for fifteen pages, Seungkwan wrote twenty-eight, titled: _Sensory Cravings: Case Studies of the Effect of Tetrahydrocannabinols on the Psychological Desire for Sensory Stimuli._ His topic was exactly what it sounds like—how, when people are high on THC, they crave sensory stimulation. Choosing that topic was risky, but the department ended up loving it. His professor even pulled him aside and mentioned, confidentially in his office, his experiences with LSD in undergrad and how he wishes there weren’t so many rules for research so they could give people drugs for experiments as long as they were willing and gave consent to take them for the sake of academic research—to _learn_ something. Seungkwan thought then that that’s exactly what made him do it.

            He had multiple sections of his paper, with multiple case studies. Hansol was a subject, and Wonwoo helped find some people and participated himself, and Joshua even recounted some of his experiences from his earlier college years. The paper discussed the desire for not only food and flavor but for visual imagery like art, color, and videos; stories, like conspiracy theories and subjects that lead to philosophical thought; tactile sensation, like the desire to touch someone’s face and run your fingers through their hair (which began as symptoms of Seungkwan’s own high but are now a regular occurrence). He even had a section on auditory stimulation, with a specific focus on music. For this, they reached out to Jihoon who, with the condition that he be kept anonymous in the paper, emailed back saying he didn’t have the time to be an active participant, but sent about a thousand words on his experiences with synesthesia and how it has changed and vaulted his career. _Symphonies of color right before my eyes, visible only to me,_ he wrote, and even though his feelings towards Jihoon are ambiguous, Seungkwan still thought that was really cool.

            He ended the paper with a discussion of how this stimulation contributes to substance addiction and abuse, which is where his scathing side got to come in. In the end, the whole paper was a blast to write, and getting to interview Hansol and Josh about so many of his boyfriend’s bizarre experiences was his favorite part. It earned him a ninety-four—the best grade his professor has given out in his five years teaching the class.

            “I think it goes in for the summer publication,” Seungkwan says, squeezing Hansol’s hand.

            “Ah,” Soonyoung says, leaning against Seungkwan and rubbing his cheek on Seungkwan’s face. “I’m proud of my Kwannie.”

            “Don’t push it,” Seungkwan says, but he grins when Soonyoung pouts at him.

            “I suppose I have something to say, too,” Hansol says.

            Seungkwan lands a gaze on him, only just remembering that Hansol has been keeping a secret for who knows how long, considering Wonwoo asked how _the thing_ is coming, which means it’s been in preparation for some amount of time.

            Hansol does his sheepish grin at him. “Well—but first,” he says, “I wanted to just cover all the bases and ask Seokmin and Jeonghan if there’s any announcement they would like to make?”

            They all turn to the two, their hands still together, everyone waiting for the most obvious thing of the entire year to finally be said aloud.

            Seokmin smiles and looks at Jeonghan. “Anything you want to say, Hannie?”

            Jeonghan shrugs. “Don’t think so.”

            Seokmin nods. “Okay. You can go, Hansol.”

            Hansol purses his lips at them, and Seungkwan just hangs his head. “All right,” Hansol says tightly. “Maybe next time then.” He laughs. “Well, I guess I could sort of count Seokmin in on this anyway.” He draws in a big breath. “Well, after many trials and tribulations, and months and months of hard work, and trying to keep getting my license a secret from Kwannie—”

            “Hansol!” Seungkwan lets go of his boyfriend’s hand and turns his whole body to stare widely at him.

            “—at which I must say I have greatly succeeded.” He grins big at Seungkwan next to him. “And after just generally jumping through a lot of businessy hoops… I’m going to be opening up White Blood Bakery around the middle of next year with Seokmin’s help. I’ve already found a location really close to the Wens’ and we’ll, I guess, start setting up shop once all my paperwork goes through.”

            Seungkwan’s jaw drops open.

            “You’re so young!” Jeonghan exclaims. “That’s incredible!”

            “Seriously, dude, congratulations,” Seungcheol says, and he puts out his hand to shake with Hansol again.

            Joshua is giving Hansol the _You go, boy_ nod, and Soonyoung is wiggling but doesn’t have on his surprised O, and Seokmin is grinning because he’s in on the whole thing, and if the place is near the Wens’ restaurant then Seungkwan is sure Jun helped out with finding a location, and Wonwoo clearly already knew since he and Seokmin are likely the main suppliers—and Seungkwan puts out his hands. “Hold on.”

            The chatter stops.

            Seungkwan glares at Hansol. “You’re telling me everyone knew except me, Jeonghan, and Minghao?”

            “I knew,” Minghao says. “Soonyoung couldn’t keep it a secret and used me to let it off his chest.”

            “And I’m with him,” Jeonghan says, hooking a thumb at Seokmin.

            Seungkwan narrows his eyes at his boyfriend. “You will pay. You will pay in full.”

            Hansol just smiles at him. “How about free anything whenever you come visit me at work?”

            Seungkwan squints even more, sticking out his lips. “Hm. Congratulations and I love you,” he mutters. He’ll give Hansol proper congrats later, but for now he’ll bask in the pouting phase. Everyone lets out a teasing cheer and Hansol kisses Seungkwan’s head. Seungkwan just crosses his arms.

            “Wait—what about THvC?” Seokmin asks.

            Hansol laughs. “Dude, that’ll never die. I’ll just cut it to one a week maybe. Plus, it’ll be great for business. You know I’ll be doing shameless self-promo.”

            Seokmin places a hand over his chest in relief. For some reason, Seungkwan feels the same way.

            “All right, _now_ we can eat,” Joshua says. “And get refills. Top left?” he asks Seungcheol, going to the fridge for the second bottle of rosé.

            Seungcheol answers a yes, and everyone stands to follow to the kitchen, Hansol tugging Seungkwan close to him, pout and all.

 

Minghao, Seokmin, and Jeonghan are all holding up plates of fruit and macarons, talking about Jeonghan’s internship and his work writing a play with his mentor; Seungcheol, Joshua, and Hansol are over by HAPPY GRADUVERSARY, Josh and Seungcheol with their wine and Hansol with a plate covered in tiny desserts; and Seungkwan is busy picking up the last cheesecake petit four when Soonyoung pulls him off to the side.

            “Mmm?” Seungkwan hums, stepping sideways with him after popping the cheesecake in his mouth.

            Soonyoung grabs Seungkwan’s cheeks and kisses him on the forehead.

            Seungkwan makes a weird face and swallows. “What is it?”

            “I love you, Seungkwan. Thank you so much for the gifts. I’ll FaceTime you later and I’ll be sobbing while I look through the photos.”

            Seungkwan pulls Soonyoung’s hands down from his face and holds them. “I love you too, Kwon. I’m glad you like it.”

            Soonyoung smiles. “We need to talk.”

            Seungkwan chews on his lip and looks down. “I’m trying to avoid it.”

            “I know, lovely.” Soonyoung squeezes his hands. “We’ve known for a couple weeks, but I didn’t know how to tell you.”

            “It’s okay,” Seungkwan says. He shrugs and gives Soonyoung a smile. “It really is so cool. And you love travelling. Especially with him.”

            Soonyoung gazes over at Seungcheol. “Yeah. I really really like him.”

            Seungkwan watches Hansol eat half a tart in one bite. “And I have Hansol, so.”

            Soonyoung chuckles. He says, so quietly Seungkwan almost can’t hear him, “So you’ll be fine without me.”

            Seungkwan tilts his head, looking at his boyfriend with his best friends. Hansol, always so expressive, gets huge features all of a sudden, bringing a hand up to his forehead. He hums loudly, mouth full, and looks for a place to put down his plate before Joshua offers to hold it, laughing at him. Hansol thanks him and reaches into his hoodie pocket.

            “Oh god,” Seungkwan says, a smile pushing onto his lips.

            “What’s that?” Soonyoung asks as Hansol pulls out the black velvet bag and hands it over to Seungcheol.

            Seungkwan sighs and shakes his head. “You’ll find out later I’m sure. You did tell me once a long time ago that it’s mind blowing.”

            Soonyoung makes big eyes at him. “Hansol’s idea?”

            Seungkwan snorts. “Who else?”

            Seungcheol looks at it calmly, eyebrows up, and pockets it. Seungkwan can see the words, _Your idea?_ form. Hansol just grins.

            Seungkwan hums. “He asked me to move in with him.”

            Soonyoung’s wide eyes get even wider. “Really?”

            “Well, I think so.” Seungkwan looks at Soonyoung again. “Fool turned on the motorcycle before saying it.”

            Soonyoung laughs. “Well, I can’t say I’m surprised.”

            “No?”

            “Of course not. He’s been madly in love with you from the start. And like, yeah, he’s that kind of guy.” He pushes Seungkwan’s shoulder a little. “But it’s also you.”

            Seungkwan clicks his tongue and nudges him back. “Stop.”

            “I mean it. Are you going to?”

            Seungkwan has been avoiding that thought too. _Is_ he going to? He’d do anything to get out of his university dorm, but moving in is a big step. He’s tried to make some kind of list in his mind, the pros and cons of it all, but a problem keeps arising—other than having to commute to school, he can’t think of a single con. Hansol making his videos is great, and Hansol cooking constantly is great, and Hansol apparently starting up a small business and fulfilling his dream is _really_ great. And Hansol putting the toilet paper backwards is something he can deal with, and Hansol leaving clothes on the floor is manageable, and even Jun being such a loud walker above them isn’t that huge of a deal. And where Hansol’s place used to have a perpetual smell of cannabis, which wasn’t even that bad, it now either smells always of some sweet baked good, or the dinner he’s making for the two of them to share, or the orange shampoo Hansol uses, or the orange chicken being cooked fresh downstairs on lazy, hazy LA nights. Anything else that could possibly be a con is, as Joshua would say, only weather.

            “You know,” Seungkwan says, “it’s been a long time since it all, but I’m really glad you pushed me to talk to him. I’m glad you push me to do a lot of things, Soonyoung.”

            Soonyoung smiles at him. “Uh-oh, are we getting sappy?”

            But Seungkwan just looks into his eyes. “Really, Soonyoung. I mean it. I’m really thankful for you, and ever since I met you my life has changed drastically for the better, and you really help me grow as a person and break out of my tough shell and I’m going to miss you _so much_ when you’re not here and—” He stops. His throat feels weird and tight.

            “Kwannie. Oh my god, don’t cry.” Soonyoung pulls him into another hug and Seungkwan cinches his arms around him tight. He closes his eyes against his best friend’s shoulder and composes himself. “You know I’m gonna call you every freaking day,” Soonyoung says. “And we’ll fly you and Hansol out to see us a bunch.”

            Seungkwan sniffs. “Really?”

            “Of course, lovely.” He leans back and looks at Seungkwan again. “I love you, Kwannie, what the heck. You’re my freaking bestest best friend. I can’t go half a year without you.”

            Seungkwan laughs and rubs his eyes. “Me either.”

            Soonyoung grins. “And I’m gonna _have_ to fly you out when we hit New England again.”

            Seungkwan tilts his head. “Why’s that? Another fun trip and I’m actually invited this time?”

            Soonyoung just hums thoughtfully. He looks over at Seungcheol again, one hand in his pocket, the other holding pretty pink rosé, laughing with Joshua and Hansol. “Because I’m thinking of asking him to marry me and I can’t have my engagement party without—”

            “ _Soonyoung_.”

            Soonyoung smiles widely.

            Seungkwan jumps. “Are you serious? Oh my god!”

            Soonyoung waves his hands at him and hushes him. “I know. It’s crazy, isn’t it? I mean, I’m only twenty-three but we’ve been together for two years and even longer by then, and we don’t have to actually get married right away. I could wait ten more years and be just as excited. I just want to surprise him with it in the place where we went on our first big trip together.”

            “No, oh my god.” Seungkwan flaps his hands around, getting out his excitement as quietly as he can. “I think that’s amazing and perfect. You two are so totally in love and I just…” He sighs. “I’m so happy for you. For whenever it happens.”

            Soonyoung does a quiet squeal. “I’m so excited. We’ll have to keep it a secret from him and have everyone come without telling him. I’ll figure out the money thing. He won’t notice a few thousand dollars gone.” Seungkwan rolls his eyes fondly. “My parents will be up there,” Soonyoung continues. “Maybe Hao will be in New York by then. And the boys will all come along…”

            He trails off as they look over at their respective boyfriends again. As if he could sense it, Hansol looks over and sends Seungkwan a wink.

            “He’s really one handsome guy,” Soonyoung says.

            Seungkwan laughs and nods. “Mine too.”

            “I was talking about yours.” Soonyoung smiles at Seungkwan and puts on a cute face. “All thanks to me.”

            Seungkwan deadpans. “On second thought, maybe having you away for the season will—” He cuts off and gasps. “Wait. Soonyoung, am I your best man?”

            “No, silly, you’re my maid of honor.”

            Seungkwan thunks his head with the heel of his hand. “Of course. What colors? What location? What will you wear?” He gasps louder. “What will you _eat_?” It reminds him then of the surprise Hansol has for Soonyoung, and he forces himself not to react to the thought.

            Soonyoung just laughs. “I don’t have all the details yet but you can bet that I will be nothing short of a goddess in my gown. I’ll suggest Seungcheol a budget, and then he’ll tell me I have no budget if he can come with me to pick it out—which you’re doing, by the way—and I’ll tell him fat chance, and I’ll still have no budget.” He giggles. “And he better cry when he sees me.”

            Seungkwan laughs. “If he doesn’t, Hansol will.”

            Soonyoung looks determined then. “That’s cute. Okay—mission: get both boyfriends to cry.”

            “Boyfriend and _fiancé_ ,” Seungkwan corrects him.

            Soonyoung squeals again and wiggles his knees. “New England, here I come.”

            “Look out,” Seungkwan adds, and Soonyoung nudges him, laughing.

            Someone starts ringing a glass. Everyone looks over to the noise, finding Hansol holding a fork up to Joshua’s rosé flute. “Everyone,” Hansol says in his best important voice, holding the fork up in two fingers like an orchestra conductor. “I’ve only just remembered this after we’ve already eaten, but there’s something that we must attend to.” He looks over to Seungkwan.

            “Ahh,” Seungkwan says, smiling. He pokes Soonyoung’s side. “Come on over to the counter, _lovely_.”

            Soonyoung looks skeptical but allows Seungkwan to pull him over while everyone convenes around the kitchen counter and Hansol goes for the fridge. “Why do I have a bad feeling?” Soonyoung says.

            “Is there a surprise?” Jeonghan asks.

            “As a matter of fact,” Seungcheol says, and Soonyoung looks at him like he’s already been betrayed.

            Hansol comes out of the fridge holding the dacquoise up on its dish, careful with both hands underneath it. “There is,” he says.

            Soonyoung recoils. “What is _that_?”

            Seungkwan rolls his eyes. “It’s a cake, Soonyoung.”

            “Oh my god—even I remember the cake aversion,” Minghao says.

            “Okay. Someone fill us in,” Seokmin says.

            Seungkwan takes a breath to explain, but Soonyoung shoves himself closer to Seokmin, speaking dramatically. “When I turned ten my mom and my dad and my big sister bought me this huge cake from the store—it was all orange icing and _Happy Birthday, Soonie_ and candles and horror. And I ate the whole thing and I threw up every bit of it. I tasted vomit icing for _days_.” He tilts up his chin, haughty. “And I haven’t touched a cake since. I hate cake.”

            Both Seokmin and Jeonghan look rightly disgusted.

            “Which is why it’s my mission today…” Hansol says, already sliding a perfect slice of cake onto a plate. It looks delicious to Seungkwan, and though he’s already eaten too many sweets, he can’t wait to have some. Hansol holds up the cake slice. “To get you to just try one single bite of this,” he says. “Just one. I made it special. What do you say?” He grins, holding up his icing-covered knife in the other hand like a madman.

            Soonyoung crosses his arms. “That depends. Do you want to see Cheol’s angry face when I throw up everywhere?”

            Seungkwan palms his face. “Oh my god.”

            “Is it really that bad?” Jeonghan asks.

            While Soonyoung is nodding insistently at Jeonghan, Seungcheol goes to a drawer and finds another fork. He takes the slice of cake from Hansol and goes to Soonyoung, forking a bite from the pointed end.

            Soonyoung’s eyes follow the fork as it comes closer to him. “No way.”

            “Baby,” Seungcheol says, and even Seungkwan can tell that he’s using his not-messing-around voice, though he imagines that it’s far different with Soonyoung than with clients. “I never make you do anything you don’t want to,” Seungcheol says, “but you’re doing this. Hansol worked hard making this cake _and_ all your other desserts today, too. And he got you that great present. Just one bite.” He holds the fork up closer to Soonyoung’s mouth.

            The corners of Soonyoung’s lips curl down, but his eyebrows become worried. “But…but Cheollie—”

            “ _Baby_ ,” Seungcheol says seriously—as serious as the word can get. “Try it. Last present from you to me for our anniversary.”

            Soonyoung makes wide eyes at him. “But I already got you—”

            “Soonyoung.”

            Seokmin and Jeonghan glance at each other, and Joshua sends a laugh to Minghao. Seungkwan whispers, “Yeesh,” and looks up at Hansol. But Hansol is just staring intensely at the couple, his concentrating face on, unblinking. He murmurs, “This is the moment.”

            Seungcheol pushes the fork forward.

            Soonyoung huffs and uncrosses one arm to take the fork, but Seungcheol pulls it away and shakes his head. “ _Ahhh_ ,” he mimes.

            Soonyoung scrunches his nose at him, but eventually he opens his mouth.

            Next to Seungkwan, Hansol’s body leans forward like a magnet toward the scene. Seungkwan tries so hard not to laugh.

            Soonyoung closes around the fork, already grimacing, and Seungcheol slides it from his lips, putting the cake and fork down on the counter. All eyes are on Soonyoung, every mouth trying to hide a smile. Soonyoung chews slowly, looking ready to gag. But then he blinks, and his eyes open a little more, and his gaze flicks over to Hansol.

            Hansol’s features light up way too bright. This is validation purer than anyone else could give.

            “What…what did you put in this?” Soonyoung asks. He swallows the bite and eyes the rest of the cake. “That was amazing.”

            Of course. Of _freaking_ course.

            Hansol pumps his fist in victory. “Yes! Finally!”

            Soonyoung looks like he doesn’t know what to do with himself—like a whole thirteen years of good cake has slipped out of his reach. He looks over at Seungcheol who just gives him that easy smile.

            “Why do I actually feel proud?” Seokmin says.

            Seungkwan shakes his head. “You’re asking me.”

            “I honestly can’t believe it,” Joshua says. “Hansol just beat thirteen years of psychological aversion in one bite. Dude.”

            Hansol throws his hands in the air. “All right! Now we can officially party.”

            “I’ll cut for everyone,” Jeonghan offers. “Does anyone have music?”

            Hansol widens his eyes and says a quick _Oh_. He goes into his pocket for his phone. “I’ll hook up to the Bluetooth. Y’all know I have to play us out with a song.”

            Seungkwan smiles at Soonyoung, leaning into Seungcheol with the most awed expression on his face, looking at the cake on the counter like something really is even better than rainbows and tie dye and diamond belly button piercings. Seungkwan smiles at his friends—at Jeonghan going to the cake and Seokmin watching him closely, at Minghao and Joshua getting into some conversation he probably wouldn’t understand. He smiles up at Hansol who’s looking through his phone, and when Hansol finds a song, he smiles back at Seungkwan.

            “Hey, babe,” Hansol says, quiet enough for just the two of them.

            “Hey, babe,” Seungkwan says back.

            Hansol puts his arm around Seungkwan’s waist and calls to everyone. “All right, I’ve got one. The speaker is on?” Seungcheol nods to him. “Sweet. I actually know the guy who produced this, so, you know, support.” Joshua smiles at him, and Hansol squeezes Seungkwan’s waist.

            The song starts to play—a pretty rising note from a single guitar string opening into instrumental that sounds like the afternoon LA sunlight coming in from the big landscape window.

            “Are we good on this cake?” Seokmin asks.

            As soon as Hansol says yes, Soonyoung dashes over to it, grabbing the plates with the two biggest slices in both of his little hands.

            Seungkwan laughs and tilts his chin at him, and pulls Hansol over. “Hey—Kwon. Save a bit for the rest of us.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The end, and thank you so much for reading!
> 
> || Ending ment in the comments :) ||


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